Counting Stars
by BlowTheCandlesOut
Summary: Life is perfect. Blaine is perfect. Kurt Hummel has never been happier or more in love, but what happens when Kurt begins to see that everyone has secrets?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A few housekeeping bits:**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee **

**Warnings: In case you were not yet aware, this story is rated M for a reason; it deals with some very dark themes. Only you can decide what you are and are not comfortable with so discretion over whether or not to read is up to you.**

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**Chapter 1**

_If I ever find out there's proof that God exists, the first thing I am going to do is congratulate him on the creation of such a perfect human being._

Kurt glanced up again from his homework to steal yet another look at the beautiful boy across the table from him. At that same moment, Blaine's eyes rose from the pages of the textbook in front of him and locked on Kurt's. And for the millionth time, those eyes made his cheeks flush and a thrill go down his spine.

Blaine's devastating smile graced his face and he quirked his eyebrows toward the boy opposite him. Kurt had to remind himself, yet again, that he did not have to quickly look away to avoid any awkwardness. Blaine was his. He mirrored Blaine, raising his eyebrows briefly with a smirk. Blaine tapped his foot against his under the table. Kurt nudged back before giving Blaine a scolding frown and whispering, "Excuse me, Mr. Anderson, but I'm here at Dalton to learn. You're distracting me from my studies."

Blaine's smirk only widened into a smile. "My sincerest apologies; I didn't realize I was such a disturbance. I'll keep my hands to myself. I promise."

"Thank you." Kurt directed his eyes back to the book in front of him, carefully keeping any hint of a smile off his face (a difficult task, with Blaine's charming grin directed at him). With a sigh, he really did try to focus on the French in front of him, but it was of no use. He felt the touch of a foot rubbing its way up his calf. He refused to coddle Blaine's antics. He would not fall victim to that devastating charm with one touch of a uniform shoe. But Blaine was persistent and when Kurt tried to shoot him a quick look, Blaine's eyes were on his history book, only the slightest smile at the corners of his mouth giving any hint that he was fully aware of what he was doing.

"You promised." Kurt hissed.

Blaine's eyes remained trained on his book, but once again he flashed that smile and held both hands up from the tabletop. He had indeed kept his hands to himself.

Kurt kicked him once in the shin in reply.

Blaine jumped a little, and his eyes flew up to meet Kurt's. His mouth turned down into a pout.

Kurt did feel a little bad about that. He forgot his "little kicks" could actually carry some power, and he hadn't actually meant to _hurt_ Blaine. It was just so hard to keep feigning irritation with that gorgeous face constantly flashing him smiles and those chocolaty eyes focused so entirely on him. Still, he held his charade. "Serves you right."

"I'm going to bruise." Blaine whined, folding his injured leg across his lap to rub the assaulted shin.

"Oh, please. And people say I am the girly one in the relationship." Kurt rolled his eyes and refocused his attention on copying verb conjugations.

"It's not girly to bruise when a football kicker comes at you point blank." Even injured, Blaine did not give in. He sighed loudly a few times, and when Kurt didn't respond, he dropped his head onto the tabletop with a thump.

"Study." Kurt commanded in the most authoritative whisper he could muster.

Blaine's head remained on the table and he didn't respond.

"Suit yourself." Kurt flipped the page in his French book with diva-like bravado in a grand show of his indifference…. except the problem was, he was not indifferent. With Blaine finally quiet and not nudging at him, he was unsettled. After nearly ten minutes of uninterrupted studying he stole a glance in Blaine's direction.

Blaine's head remained on the table, but he'd turned his face from its mahogany surface to focus on the text beside him, his eyes scanning over the words with dull interest. Kurt looked back down to his own text, but it was no use. He waited a few moments so Blaine wouldn't be able to claim victory in stealing his attention before stacking his notes neatly and returning them to his messenger bag. Blaine's bored focus remained on his book, apparently surrendered to Kurt's off-putting. Perfect; he, Kurt Hummel, had won for once. He snapped his French book shut, and finally Blaine's attention shifted back to him, his eyebrows raised hopefully. Kurt gave a nod of approval to say yes, Blaine could give up on his homework. Blaine shoved his things unceremoniously into his own bag, making Kurt inadvertently cringe. For someone so put together, Blaine could be such a _guy._

A familiar rush of adoration quickly overwhelmed his momentary disgust when Blaine's fingers slipped between his own as they made their exit. "Have you been checked for ADHD?"

Blaine tilted his head with a smile then shook his head. "Nope. Can't say that I have."

"You may want to look into it." Kurt said dryly as Blaine tugged him along toward the parking lot. Low, dark clouds hung in the sky.

"I am only distracted when it comes to you." Blaine squeezed his hand once and offered him a quick wink as they reached the car.

Another rush of adrenaline and butterflies colored Kurt's cheeks. To maintain his façade of irritation, he could only manage a single, monotone word as he made to reach for the handle of the passenger door. "Hopeless."

Blaine, however, twisted Kurt around by the hand he held and wedged Kurt's back against the door, his own body pressed close. "Hopelessly, madly, and endlessly. Distracted. By. You."

Kurt fully gave up. Blaine's playful antics could be brushed aside with mock irritation, but with those hazel eyes burning his own, and those deliciously pink lips so close… he pressed his mouth to Blaine's without a second thought. He had thought the rush, the completely-out-of-breath-but-never-want-to-come-up-for-air feeling, the sensation of so much adrenaline flowing that his excitement almost felt like fear sensation...he thought it would fade after the first few times. Sure, there were more quick pecks, mindless lips brushing against cheeks, quick touches of one boy's mouth to the other's hair now, but the passionate kisses still took his breath away every time.

Blaine pulled away slowly, a smile already turning up the corners of his mouth, showing off a line of perfect teeth. Blaine could constantly shock Kurt, but he was also comforted by his mannerisms that came about like clockwork. The bashful way he laughed a little, a blush touching his cheeks, a self-conscious touch to the back of his neck. Clockwork.

"Every time" Kurt laughed a little to himself, shaking his head.

"Huh?" Blaine's hand was still at his neck.

Kurt leaned forward and gave him one more peck on the mouth before opening his car door. "I just can't get over how perfectly dreamy you are."

"Comes with practice." Blaine grinned as he walked around the car to the driver's side.

Kurt couldn't bring himself to point out the little habits to Blaine; afraid they would end if his counterpart were to be made aware of them. Blaine started the car and pulled out of his parking space, throwing charming smiles and nods to their fellow Dalton peers who were also dispersed throughout the lot. Kurt watched him out of the corner of his eye. _If anyone's up there… thank you. _He didn't know how it was possible…at times he could barely believe it had even happened. How had he, Kurt Hummel- the dumpster tossee, the awkward gay kid, the sexually oblivious, forever conflicted loser, the guy who had finally just begun to resign himself to not every having even a true flirtation in his high school years- landed _him_? He glanced over at Blaine again- that smile, those eyes, that endless charm, the Ivy League intelligence vibe, the endless air of confidence and charisma- Blaine was perfect. And he was Kurt's… for how long?

"My, aren't we pensive today."

"Hmm?" Kurt shook his head, meeting Blaine's eyes briefly. As they pulled out of the lot into traffic, fat raindrops began to fall, hitting the car with audible plops.

Blaine set his lips into a solemn line and furrowed his brows in a caricature of Kurt's own face for a moment before glancing at him out of the corner of his eye once again, "What are you thinking about over there?"

Kurt watched, as the splatter of raindrops became a steadier stream down the windshield. "Nothing. Just… it never quite seems like any of this can be real."

Blaine turned up the speed of his windshield wipers. "What can't be?"

"I don't know…" Kurt tried to keep his voice flippant, his eyes drifting toward his window. "Being at Dalton away from Karofsky… you and me…"

Blaine reached a hand over briefly to squeeze Kurt's knee lightly. "It's real. I promise."

Kurt turned his gaze back to the boy beside him with a smile. He didn't need to be dumping any further insecurities on Blaine just now, especially with the steadily increasing down pour occupying most all of his attention. When they finally reached Kurt's driveway, Blaine was leaned so far over to see, his chest nearly touched the steering wheel. "Jesus, it's really coming down out there."

"Can you come in for awhile until it lets up? I don't want you driving home in this." Kurt unbuckled his seatbelt, frowning at the drops he knew would soon soak his uniform, hair, and fabulous new bag.

"It's Friday. I had _assumed_ I would be coming in for awhile." Blaine offered a look of mock hurt.

"All the more excuse for you to stay longer." Kurt replied, and then groaned. "God, I'm going to get soaked."

"Unless you're a wicked witch or you're made of sugar, I doubt you'll melt." Blaine chuckled, pulling the keys from the ignition.

"I know you've seen Wicked, so you should be well aware she does _not_ melt." Kurt sniffed incredulously. "As for the sugar. Maybe I am."

With only a devilish grin for warning, Blaine suddenly leaned over the space between them and sloppily licked Kurt's cheek.

Kurt cried out in shock, rubbing the cuff of one of his sleeves against the spot furiously. "Disgusting."

Blaine, however, only sat back in his seat, smacking his lips a few times with a ponderous look on his face before shaking his head slowly. "…Not quite sugar… You should be fine."

"I should mess up your hair just for that." Kurt growled, eyeing Blaine's neatly gelled locks.

"You'd have to catch me first." Blaine suddenly flung himself from the car, his door slamming shut from the kick of the sole of his shoe as he disappeared into the down pour.

Forgetting his vanity, at least for the moment, Kurt, too, shot out his door, chasing after the outline of a blue blazer. He wasn't sure if the rain had clouded his vision, or if it was simply a natural playfulness, but rather than make for the door, Blaine had darted into the front lawn, sending little waves of water up from the sodden grass with each drop of his feet.

Blaine, was a lot of things, but apparently sure on his feet in wet grass was not one of them. He skidded and stumbled, giving Kurt enough time to nimbly close the space between them and grab hold of the back of Blaine's uniform. They both fell to the ground-Kurt landed square on his butt.

Blaine laughed, crawling on his knees toward Kurt from his own splayed drop to the earth. He found Kurt's face and pressed his mouth against his, his hot breath contrasting wonderfully with the cold rain that pelted their faces. "Still all together? No fingers melted off or anything?"

"Check for yourself." The rain had melted away Blaine's hair products, and those boyish waves were stuck to his forehead where Kurt was free to run his fingers through them. He pulled Blaine's mouth back to his.

When Blaine pulled away, he was half shouting through the near roar of the rain, "I tried to count, I really did, but you know how I get distracted…"

A flash of lightening lit up the sky momentarily and was followed shortly by a crack of thunder, making Kurt jump and scaring any flirtatiousness out of him for the moment. "We should get inside."

Blaine sought out Kurt's hands and pulled him to his feet before they both jogged toward the front door where Kurt was quick to get out his house keys, anticipating another streak of lightening.

The wave of warmth and glow of lights from the house was a welcome relief. Kurt wrinkled his nose as he pulled his shoes and socks off.

"I hate wet socks." Blaine whined, pulling his own shoes off.

"Jeez, it really comin' down that hard out there?" Burt Hummel turned the corner out of the kitchen and stared at the pair in front of him.

Kurt made a gesture toward the window where thick sheets of water trailed down the glass outside. "See for yourself."

Burt glanced toward the glass before returning his attention back to the boys in front of him. "Still, just that quick run from the car…you two look like you went swimming."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged a brief look, but Kurt only shrugged.

"Whoa, dude, did you go for a swim or something?" Finn emerged from the kitchen, a grilled cheese in hand.

"Yes, Finn, we took a quick dip in the new pool out front." Kurt was peeling off his blazer, but he threw his step-brother a despairing look.

Finn paused for a brief moment, considering the possible pool before turning his attention toward Blaine. "You can borrow some clothes, man. I mean keep the boxers or whatever, but I think we're closer in size than you and Kurt."

"Thank you, Finn. I appreciate it." Blaine flashed Finn a smile.

"There's a shower downstairs if you want to clean up a bit, kid. Both of you look like you could use one. Kurt, you can use mine and Carol's." Burt cracked the beer open in his hand.

"Why would we need to…" Kurt looked to Blaine, and stopped himself short. Dirt stained Blaine's usually pristine Dalton trousers, and a streak of mud was visible along his jaw line. Blaine grinned back at Kurt, confirming that he, too, was a muddied mess.

"Got awful muddy for a quick jog into the house." Burt commented, his eyes shifting between the two as he took a swig of his beer.

Kurt's eyes went to the ground and he felt the flash of heat in his cheeks. "Towels are under the sink, Blaine." He mumbled lamely before rushing up the stairs toward the upstairs bathroom to wash away the mud, and- he hoped- the momentary embarrassment.

"Thanks again, Finn." He heard Blaine's cheerful voice as he closed the bathroom door securely. He rolled his eyes. Endlessly charming.

Once he was cleansed of his little romp in the yard and warmed by the heat of the shower, Kurt was in much higher spirits. He pulled on a robe from the door before dashing down the stairs. He caught a glimpse of three males sitting in the family room, the sound of a sports game emanating from the television. Comforted that Blaine was momentarily entertained, he settled into his skincare routine and selected a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt from his wardrobe. Blaine liked it when he wore dark colors like that. With a final smoothing of his hair, he returned up the stairs.

Blaine was not nearly so carefully put together- whether out of lack of hair product or lack of care, Kurt wasn't sure. His hair had been brushed, but it remained in its loose curls, not the normal gelled styling he had perfected for his days at Dalton. Finn's jeans must have proven too big, because Blaine wore a pair of flannel blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He was as breathtakingly handsome as ever.

Blaine looked over toward Kurt with a smile. "You look nice."

"I do what I can." Kurt smiled briefly; he glanced toward the television with little interest. "What are you watching?"

"It's March Madness, Kurt, they're recapping-" Finn paused mid-sentence, mouth hanging open, to listen to the anchor tell him something apparently deeply important.

"Right, how could I forget?" Kurt rolled his eyes, not really caring to hear what or who they were recapping on ESPN.

"I watched the game yesterday, I don't need to see this." Blaine smiled toward Kurt.

"Is it all right if Blaine and I hang out in my room, Dad?" Kurt was relieved to hear he wouldn't be forced to feign interest through a sports program.

"Leave the door open." Burt replied, his own eyes leaving the screen briefly to look at Blaine. "Nice talking to you, kid. It'll be interesting to see if you're right."

"Oh, I will be, sir." Blaine laughed as he followed Kurt toward the basement steps.

"Do you have an on off switch or some sort of dial to tone it down?" Kurt glanced over his shoulder at Blaine as they reached the base of the stairs.

"Excuse me?" Blaine's eyebrows went up, confusion wrinkling his brow.

"Between the manners, natural charisma, dashing smile, and devastatingly good looks; you are always so freaking charming." Kurt settled onto his bed, his legs folded neatly.

Blaine smiled bashfully, a hand reaching up toward his bangs to touch them almost self-consciously. "Is that a problem?"

"No one, and I mean _no one_, is as _on_ all the time as Mr. Blaine Anderson." Kurt smiled and rolled his eyes.

Blaine seated himself on the edge of Kurt's bed, looking conflicted. "You think it's an act?"

Seeing the hurt in Blaine's normally confident persona sent a twinge of guilt through Kurt's conscience. He extended a leg and nudged Blaine's back with his foot. "Of course not. I just think you're setting a bar that none of us mere mortals can ever hope to reach."

Blaine turned his eyes towards Kurt, a smile reappearing in its normal place when Kurt extended his other leg and prodded at Blaine's side with both feet. "On the contrary, how are any of us supposed to look halfway decent next to you with your unwavering sense of style?"

Kurt turned his nose up in the air and reclined slightly into his pillows. "Unfortunately not everyone appreciates perfect style."

Blaine twisted around, extending his body over Kurt's. He folded his arms low on the other boy's sternum and rested his chin atop them. "Apparently, not everyone appreciates charm, either."

Kurt ran his fingers through Blaine's hair absently. "It is not out of lack of appreciation that I complain. More out of jealousy and fear."

"Of who? Of what?" Blaine frowned.

"Of everyone who gets the chance to fall victim to that devastating smile of yours, and of one of those people intriguing you much more than I do." Kurt's hands slipped from Blaine's head.

Blaine's frown deepened and then was replaced by a sad smile. "Never. Not possible."

"You just wait." Kurt tapped Blaine's nose once with the tip of an index finger.

Blaine pulled himself up higher, his hands on either side of Kurt; his face hovering so close that Kurt could smell Blaine's usual spearmint gum on his breath. "When are you gonna get it through your head, huh? I want you. Only you."

Kurt smiled slightly back, his fears momentarily less sharp, but they remained all the same.

Blaine seemed to read his mind. His voice lowered to a silky purr. "I might smile for everyone, but do I do this for all of them, too?"

Kurt savored the taste of his mouth. Hot and flavored with mint and something that was entirely Blaine. He traced his hands along the smooth muscles of his lover's back. He was by no means some rippled body builder, but still the contours of the small of his back, his shoulders, and his arms- all were smooth and firm beneath Kurt's touch.

Even as they ran out of breath and the kiss ended, Blaine pulled his face away only so far as to allow some oxygen to be allowed. His lips still brushed Kurt's as he murmured. "So?"

"So you've made your point." Kurt felt drunk off Blaine.

"I'm the luckiest guy in the world." Kurt could not see it, but he felt the grin settling onto Blaine's face.

Kurt didn't argue, too happy to raise any protest and not daring to rain on Blaine's sunny disposition just then. Instead he kissed him again, not quite as deeply, but passionately nonetheless.

Blaine finally rolled off of him, settling his head back on Kurt's chest, his eyes directed toward the ceiling. They chattered mindlessly and lazily about anything and everything. As the conversation drifted from topic to topic, Kurt absently resumed his earlier activity of tracing his fingers through the loose tangles of the other boy's hair, his elbow rested against Blaine's shoulder as he listened to Blaine's thoughts on a new song for the Warblers' next season of competition. His fingers trailed a slow pathway from the soft curls brushing Blaine's left ear to the hair at his crown then forward then back to their starting position. He watched as Blaine's hands illustrated his thoughts in the air above him, his eyes still trained on the ceiling as though seeing the choreography on a movie screen somewhere above him, mindless to Kurt's pattern tracings atop his head.

Kurt began to work on memorizing the contours below his fingertips, the gently arch of the top of his ear, the curve as he traced upward and back, a spot of slightly more unruly hair toward the crown. On and on he went, mapping the territory below his hand. He left the usual pathway once he knew it to forge new paths, learn new spots. He offered a comment on Blaine's elaborate trio scheme, smiling when his thoughts served to increase Blaine's excitement, his head bobbing briefly in agreement and a smile sliding into place as he chattered on. His fingers found Blaine's hairline, hidden beneath the curls that swept across his forehead. He started at the far right and followed it left. Two things happened so quickly he barely had time to register either one. His pinky brushed a thin line of lightly raised skin, breaking the smooth path he had been following. That spot was like pressing a button. Blaine's voice stopped and his hand shot up to grab Kurt's wrist so quickly it caused Kurt to cry out in surprise. He retracted his fingers from the dark hair, but his hand remained trapped in Blaine's grip. He looked down in slight alarm at his boyfriend. Blaine looked as startled as Kurt felt; he quickly released Kurt's hand and sat up. "Kurt, I'm sorry- I don't know- Jesus, did I hurt you?"

Kurt studied the anxiety on Blaine's features- an expression he could only ever remember seeing when Blaine had beat himself up over his impromptu serenade attempt for Jeremiah. "Of course not; you just scared me…"

Blaine nodded slowly; his eyes remained on Kurt's wrist though; assuring himself he hadn't caused any visible damage. "You're sure? I really didn't mean to… I mean- I just- You startled me, I guess."

Kurt frowned. Concise, witty Blaine… at a loss for words? He reached out to place a comforting hand on Blaine's shoulder but was only further disturbed to see Blaine jump a little at the action. He dropped his hand and tried for a comforting softness in his voice instead; careful to leave any of the confusion out of his tone. "Blaine, what is it? What's wrong?"

Blaine shook his head again slowly. Suddenly he tried for a smile, though it looked uncomfortable and misplaced with his eyes still so anxiety-filled. He touched his forehead briefly. "Hit my head pretty bad when I was a kid… still pretty trigger happy about it I guess."

"Pretty trigger happy to say the least; I thought you were going to try and tear my hand off." Kurt tried to get away from this strange tension too, inspecting his fingernails carefully.

Blaine's face finally looked more his own, but the concern remained. "You're sure I didn't hurt you?"

"Well," Kurt flitted his eyes from his fingernails to his wrist, giving it a quick once over before extending it toward Blaine. "Nothing you can't kiss better."

Blaine finally fell back into himself as he took Kurt's arm gently, and kissed it lightly from the crook of his elbow all the way up to his fingers before pressing the open palm against his own cheek.

Kurt smiled, ignoring the fleeting thought that Blaine had his palm pressed to his right cheek, further from the scar than the opposite side of his face. He leaned in and gave Blaine a quick peck on the mouth. Blaine settled back into voicing his Warbler brainstorms from where he sat cross-legged in front of Kurt. Kurt nodded along, but couldn't help but let his thoughts be occupied by how quickly Blaine was able to dismiss the minor episode that had just occurred. Finally, Kurt couldn't help himself any longer.

"What happened?" He blurted out.

Blaine's hands momentarily paused in the air before him. "Does something have to happen to have them come down the aisles?"

Kurt shook his head briefly, "No; I mean, how did the scar happen?"

Blaine's smile noticeably faded, his hands falling into his lap. "Why do you ask?"

"It must have been something pretty intense to leave that kind of knee-jerk response to someone just touching it." Kurt nudged Blaine's knee with his own and smiled. "Stop being all cutesy aloof about it and just tell me."

Blaine smiled briefly, but his eyes were on the pillows behind Kurt. He rubbed the back of his neck briefly before letting out a long breath. "My dad's toolbox…it fell on my head… trying to pull it down off a shelf."

"A toolbox?" Kurt said, trying to keep any note of disappointment out of his voice. That was what so much fuss was over? A _toolbox_?

Blaine nodded slowly, "Big, heavy metal thing… probably should have gotten stitches…"

"Baby Blaine drops a fifty pound toolbox on his face and Mom and Dad didn't whisk him off to the E.R?" Kurt raised his eyebrows. Blaine's parents, however awkward about his sexual orientation, were endlessly attentive toward their son.

"Uh… I didn't tell them." Blaine's eyes met Kurt's briefly.

"What?" Kurt tried to meet Blaine's eyes. "How could you not tell them? Weren't you like…bleeding all over the carpet?"

Blaine collected his thoughts for a moment before responding. "They weren't around when it happened… I knew they'd flip if I told them, so I just dealt with it myself. We had a medical kit and all that so I bandaged it up and they were none the wiser for it…they still aren't."

"Will you promise me something?" Kurt reached a hand out and rested it on Blaine's knee.

Blaine regarded him suspiciously before nodding slowly. "Sure. What?"

"If you ever drop a music stand on your head or break an ankle dancing or harm yourself in any other Blaine-esque sort of way; you'll tell me so I can help you take care of it?"

Blaine's smile looked almost relieved. "Promise."

The conversation of Blaine's secret accident brought about a whole round of childhood reminiscing for the two of them, and it wasn't until Burt's heavy steps descending down to Kurt's room did their chatter again pause.

Burt looked only briefly uncomfortable as he regarded Kurt's legs draped across Blaine's lap before he directed his attention solely toward his son's friend. "Listen, Kid, it's getting pretty late and it hasn't let up any out there. I think you should spend the night here; you shouldn't be driving in this stuff."

Kurt knew better than to believe Burt intended for Blaine to sleep in his bed—he would most likely be offered the couch. He was, however, surprised by Blaine's polite response.

"That's very kind of you sir, but I really should be heading home; my mother worries." Kurt hadn't expected a refusal.

"She'd worry a hell of a lot more if she thought you were driving in this. Why don't you give her a call? I can talk to her if she needs some reassurance about where you are." When Burt Hummel's mind was made up, there was no arguing to be done.

Blaine nodded, a little reluctantly, but smiled all the same. "Thank you, Mr. Hummel. I'll let her know."

Burt nodded and gave Kurt a brief look. "I'll ask Carol to make up the couch for you up here."

Blaine pulled his phone from his pocket and began scrolling through the contacts in search of his mother's number.

Kurt smiled, hiding any hurt he might feel, "I didn't think you would be one to turn down a slumber party. Especially our first one both of us might actually remember."

Blaine smiled briefly, already holding the phone up to his ear and waiting for someone to pick up on the other end. "I just didn't want to make your dad uncomfortable, and- Hi, Mom!"

Kurt listened to Blaine' side of the conversation in silence.

"- Don't worry about it, I'm sure it will be fine…yes…I love you, too. Night." Blaine ended the call and smiled briefly at Kurt. "Mommy was indeed relieved to hear I wouldn't be taking my car out into Hurricane Ohio."

"Hummels are never wrong." Kurt smirked.

Later that night, Kurt lay in bed, listening to Finn's soft snores in the bed across the room and the soft white noise-like sound of the rain still falling outside. He glanced at his phone. 2:47. Everyone would be asleep. He carefully pulled himself out from under the covers. He didn't bother tiptoeing as he made his way toward the stairs. Finn could sleep through a bomb being dropped on the house.

He did, however, quiet his footsteps as he neared the top of the stairs. He smiled briefly, congratulating himself on his own sneakiness. Blaine could be spontaneous and shocking- licking him across the face like someone's amiable puppy, sprinting around in a downpour. It was Kurt's turn to be the shocking one. He was going to wake Blaine up with a passionate kiss. _No_, he mentally corrected himself as he slowly coaxed the door open, _a _forbidden_ kiss_. He paused briefly as he entered the main floor and while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the surrounding dark he continued to daydream. Yes, he would kneel down in front of him and wake him up with a shocking, passionate, forbidden kiss while his family lay asleep and unknowing while the rain poured down around the house. _Now_ who's the devastatingly sexy one? When his eyes could easily make out the outline of the couch he made his way toward it, all confidence and anticipation.

He slipped down until he sat on the edge of the couch and bent low so his face was near Blaine's, but rather than immediately press his lips to his lover's, he wanted to admire that serene and peaceful face. He frowned. Blaine's face was neither serene nor peaceful. His brow was furrowed, and- now so close- Kurt could hear Blaine' labored breathing, see his hand clenching and unclenching at the blanket around his shoulders.

"Blaine." Kurt whispered. Blaine's agitation only increased, a soft whimper escaping his lips.

Kurt reached out and shook his shoulder gently; he spoke just a little louder. "Blaine."

That time, Blaine shot up right, a garbled yelp escaping his mouth before Kurt could clamp his hand over it.

"Shh!" Kurt glanced toward the steps, calming just slightly when he didn't see the hall light snap on. Only once he was reassured his father wouldn't come charging in did he turn his attention back to Blaine. His eyes were wild with fear; his face clammy beneath Kurt's hand. Kurt slid back further into the couch and released his hold over Blaine's mouth.

Blaine's eyes darted from one place to the other- a hunted rabbit, cornered.

"Blaine, it was just a dream. A nightmare." Kurt whispered, running a soothing hand over Blaine's arm. He could feel goose bumps below his fingers

Briefly, Blaine touched a shaky hand to his hair- the scar. He glanced at his fingertips briefly before suddenly slumping into Kurt as though exhausted.

"It's all right, I'm here." Kurt murmured all the things his parents had said to him as a child when he awoke in the night, terrified of the monsters of his unconscious.

Blaine struggled to get his breathing under control before sitting back up right. He dropped his face into his hands briefly before looking shakily toward Kurt, "Bad dream."

Kurt tried to look reassuring, bobbing his head up and down. "That's right, only a bad dream."

Blaine breathed in deeply through his nose, letting it escape audibly out his mouth, slowly coming back to himself. He looked toward the stairs leading up then back at Kurt. "I didn't wake you, did I? Or them?"

"Of course not; I wouldn't have ever known if I hadn't come up here to see you." Kurt whispered back, still studying the person before him. Blaine's elbows were on his knees, and his face propped in his hands. His entire body slumped forward. Kurt rubbed a hand across his back in soothing circles. "You're all right now."

The words were like an elixir. Blaine nodded his head and straightened himself up, an arm slipping behind Kurt's back and around his waist, squeezing gently. "I'm all right now. Better than all right."

Kurt nuzzled his head into Blaine's shoulder and the two listened to the rain outside for a moment. Kurt thought back on his own night terrors- when he was very small, it had been monsters with too many eyes and teeth, somewhere around the age of eight or nine he had a reoccurring one of being nailed inside a coffin and buried, his screams of protest unheard by anyone. "What was it about? Your nightmare I mean."

Blaine was silent for so long, Kurt thought that perhaps he hadn't heard him, but before he could repeat the question Blaine responded.

"I don't remember." Kurt felt Blaine drop the side of his face to his hair. "I don't want to remember."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Glee is not mine

Chapter 2

He was onstage, singing and dancing. A blackened audience somewhere beyond the blinding stage lights. Broadway. He'd made it! He'd done it! Kurt watched as the members of New Directions did a group dance beside him. They were good, really good, but he was the star of the show, and everyone knew it. He was ready to belt out his final note when he felt something on his forehead- rain? He reached up to brush it away, but when he saw his fingers he was horrified to see them streaked with red. He knew he wasn't bleeding though. He wasn't sure how he knew it, but he knew it. His voice faltered as he looked around wildly. No one else seemed to notice anything was wrong at all.

"Kurt!" A voice from down front called out in a loud stage whisper. He squinted until the stage lights faded and he could clearly make out Blaine, standing just below the edge of the stage. His own forehead emitting a slow, black trail down his cheek. Despite the macabre image and his seeping forehead, Blaine looked excited.

"What do I do?" Kurt motioned toward his forehead. "How do I make it stop?"

"Smile, Kurt! Just keep smiling!" Blaine motioned at his own exaggerated grin, demoing how Kurt should act.

Kurt tried to smile, his former glee peers still dancing around him. When he finally managed to pull the expression off, he heard a dull roar above him. He looked up to see a giant mass of red falling down toward him. He was going to drown in it, he was sure. He looked back to Blaine, alarmed. But Blaine was still mouthing at him to smile.

Kurt awoke with a start. His cell phone was blasting off "Cell Block Tango". He smashed down the dismiss button with irritation before rubbing his eyes and reorienting himself to the bedroom. Finn was still face down in his bed.

Kurt padded over to the bathroom and cranked on the shower, standing listlessly until he could see curls of steam crawling out over the top of the curtain rod. He slipped in and exulted in the hot water, trying to liven himself. He loved Dalton, but the drive over required even earlier mornings than McKinley had. At least the uniform meant he didn't have to dedicate so much time to selecting his outfit for the day. Kurt scrubbed shampoo into his head, contemplating the dream, but when he imagined Blaine- looking up at him with pride and moving in that quick frenzy that meant he was excited, he felt only affection- Kurt forced himself from the comforting warmth of the shower, willing to leave the sweet embrace of hot steam for the claws of cold outside the curtain for the man he knew he would be seeing in a matter of mere hours. When he headed up the stairs, Finn hadn't moved from his prone position. Kurt greeted his father and Carol briefly in the kitchen, pouring coffee into his travel mug.

"Is Finn up yet?" Carol was busy at the stove.

"Of course not." Kurt smiled briefly at her.

"He'll be up as soon as he catches a whiff of syrup." Burt said confidently from behind his newspaper.

Kurt watched as his stepmother transferred pancakes from her skillet to a plate. "Pancakes seem like quite the labor to take on for a Monday."

"Your little friend liked them so much the other day, I guess it just put me back in the mood to cook again." Carol smiled.

Kurt shook his head with a smile. "Blaine likes _everything_. He'd shave his head before he complained about the actions of any adult. But, in your case, he did seem to really enjoy them."

"Would you like some before you go?" Carol used her spatula to motion at the plate. "I made plenty."

Kurt managed to control the almost involuntary wrinkling of his nose. "No, thank you. I really should get going."

"Eat something, kid." His father glanced over at him pointedly.

Kurt pulled an apple from the bowl on the table, calling over his shoulder. "Don't let him even try to get you to fix him bacon, Carol."

He heard Carol's laugh and his father's low complains as the door clicked shut behind him.

At school, he greeted a few fellow Warblers as he placed some of his things in his locker, smiling briefly at the strip of black and white photo booth pictures taped to the inside of the door. When he slammed the door shut, he found the other occupant of the photographs leaned against the locker banks. "Morning, Beautiful."

Kurt smiled at Blaine, letting him take him by the hand and parade him up the stairs toward their first classes. "Congratulations, your culinary compliments this weekend have turned Carol into a pancake producing princess."

Blaine smiled. "I like pancakes."

"I'm aware." Kurt reminisced fondly over Blaine that Saturday morning, happily swallowing down not one, but _three_ of Carol's pancakes, drowned in syrup. An endless shower of compliments dished out toward his meal's creator between bites and no shadow of the previous night's terror. Kurt almost felt he had dreamt it.

"You still in there?" Fingers waved briefly in front of Kurt's vision, bringing him back to the present.

He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Sorry, just a little tired."

"Didn't sleep well? Finn snoring too loud?" Blaine guessed.

"If Finn's snoring kept me awake, I would be dead by now from sleep depravation. It was just… a weird dream…"

They had arrived at Blaine's classroom. "Well, maybe we can talk about it over coffee later. Figure it out."

Kurt studied his face for any hint of a memory of Friday night. He found none. "Right. Sounds great."

Blaine squeezed his hand once before releasing it and entering the room, greeting peers with a clap on the shoulder or a nod.

As promised, he and Blaine met up for their usual coffee between school hours and Warblers practice.

"So," Blaine said, resting his elbows on the table between them, his hands wrapped around the paper cup in front of him, "Lets hear about this dream."

Kurt picked at the coffee collar around his own steaming cup for a moment, considering how to best explain.

"Is it a bad dream?" Blaine ventured.

Kurt started to shake his head, but then stopped, "I don't know really…I had it Saturday night, too."

"Ah, a reoccurring dream," Blaine smiled, "How Freudian."

Kurt laughed a little, "I guess so; it…it starts out with me on stage. On Broadway."

Blaine grinned. "Maybe you're psychic. Seeing the future in dreams."

"I hope not." Kurt explained the rest as best he could, his eyes set on the coffee collar he was slowly pulling apart at the seam.

When he finished, Blaine was silent.

Kurt looked up from his cup. Blaine had his fingers folded at the level of his face, his mouth resting at the edge of his folded thumbs. He looked like he was praying. His eyes met Kurt's, but he seemed deep in thought.

"Well, doctor, what's the verdict?" Kurt took a drink from his cup, still regarding the handsome boy across from him.

Blaine remained silent for a moment longer before dropping his folded hands and leaning back in his chair; a grin on his face. "I'm at a loss."

"The great Blaine Anderson, mentor extraordinaire, has no words of wisdom for his protégé?" Kurt raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

Blaine smiled slightly, leaning back on the table once again. "Conglomeration of synaptic firings; your brain sorting short term and long term memories; cognitive hedging. Do any of those work for you?"

Kurt had undone the last spot of glue on the paper ring and it fell from his cup, rendered useless. "You think that's all dreams are?"

Blaine took a drink from his cup, studying Kurt's dismantled handiwork on the table between them. "Sometimes… Other times I think it's how our unconscious tries to make sense of things…those little things you notice during the day that you never gave much thought to."

Kurt watched Blaine's face carefully, but tried to sound casual as he spoke. "What about nightmares?"

Blaine, yet again, gave no indication that he remembered Friday night. "I think nightmares can be the same thing, but… they're the things we lock away from our conscious thoughts. The things we don't want to think about that come sneaking out."

"Things you don't want to remember." Kurt quipped.

Blaine flinched just slightly. "Probably that too."

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly Blaine was smiling, his eyes lifted to Kurt's and he spoke before Kurt had the chance to question him.

"I don't think many of us can claim actually having come to school naked in the past, though, and I think we've all had that dream, so probably more paranoia than repressed experiences."

Kurt had no choice but to follow Blaine's musings rather than entertain his own. "No, I suppose not. Maybe I have a repressed fear that you don't think I smile enough."

"I would enjoy it if you smiled more. It's adorable and I could never get too much of it." Blaine gave Kurt a wink.

Kurt flashed Blaine a grin and they both laughed. They fell into a momentary comfortable silence before Kurt tried one last time to get Blaine to reveal something to him. "Or maybe I think you like to make everything okay for-"

Blaine glanced at his watch and jumped to his feet, shrugging his bag over his shoulder. "We're late. Wes is going to kill us."

Kurt glanced down at his phone and confirmed that they were indeed eight minutes late for Warblers' practice. He hurried after Blaine, their fingers entwined and conversation left at the table with their abandoned coffee cups.

**A/N: So, I know this chapter just kind of repeats what you already know, but I need some filler before I jump into the good stuff. Blaine likes to keep Kurt running in circles, so if you're upset by the lack of further info, blame him not me ;) As always, pretty pretty please review! More to come soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: As always, Glee is not mine

**Chapter 3**

"I can't top the ballad that was the exposure of my raw and bleeding soul. My pain, the very _essence_ of the hurt and passion that shines behind my eyes with each and every solo has already been shown to the world. I cannot top that!" Rachel stared at her reflection and that of the two on the bed behind her as she spoke.

"I am sure with your ability to never stop speaking and knack for finding ways to further tear yourself apart over everything, you will find a way to expose an even bloodier, destroyed yet disarmingly confident sense of self." Kurt flipped the page of the _Vogue_ in his lap as he spoke.

Rachel twisted around on her stool to regard Kurt face to face, a frown on her mouth. "Maybe you're right…"

Mercedes and Kurt exchanged a look before Kurt's attention returned to his magazine. "Mr. Schu hasn't come up with a new Journey medley for you yet?"

"We are _all_ trying to think creatively and with open minds, Kurt," Rachel looked away and added, reluctantly, "And I think we're out of popular Journey songs."

Kurt's phone buzzed on the bed, announcing to all a new text message had arrived. "Blaine" was printed across the screen in clean black letters beneath the image of a closed envelope. Kurt abandoned his article about the upcoming Barcelona shows to snatch up his cell.

_"Courage! Honor! Integrity!"_ Read the message. Kurt smiled but wrinkled his brow in confusion. Another message came before he could respond to the first.

_"…It's been awhile since I sent you a one liner of encouragement. Thought I'd throw a few out there." _

Kurt chuckled aloud before responding. _"Thanks. I was starting to feel insecure and uninspired."_

_ "Always here to offer inspiration, creativity, anything along those lines ;)" _

Mercedes let out a low whistle, "Mmm, if that boy was straight, I swear…"

Kurt blushed but gave his best friend a withering look. "Privacy, personal messages. Do either of those things mean anything to you?"

"Ha, not a chance when it comes to you, White Boy." She smiled. "You gonna respond to him or not?"

Kurt tried to act irritated, but then smiled coyly at the girls. He held out his phone so Mercedes could easily read his response. _"I'll supply the creativity if you bring the inspiration ;)"_

Mercedes let out a loud laugh, "I never thought I'd see the day when Kurt Hummel was a tease."

Kurt offered a look of offended innocence. "Who says I'm teasing?"

Rachel-previously in deep thought regarding her upcoming Nationals performance- suddenly keyed back into the conversation. "So you and Blaine have…you know."

Kurt looked between the two girls before dropping the act with a sigh and a light blush. "No, we live in the safe territory between minor groping and passionate making out."

"Any plans to move up a couple bases?" Mercedes waggled her eyebrows.

Kurt smoothed his pajama bottoms lightly around his knees as he considered. "At some point…I don't know, it's so impossible to tell with him. We haven't even said I love you, yet. I'm not sure if he's just waiting for me to be comfortable enough or if he's fine where we are- physically and emotionally, I mean."

"Kurt," Rachel pulled herself onto the bed and looked at him pointedly. "It doesn't matter what the men want. It has to be about _our_ needs and _our_ comfort. We are the stars, not the arm candy and trophy wives of our confused, naïve counterparts."

"I'm not sure what the current situation is between you and Finn." Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "But Blaine is not confused nor naïve…at least I don't think he is."

"She does have a point, Kurt." Mercedes said slowly. "You shouldn't rush into something just because you're worried he's going to get impatient. You two should talk about it."

Kurt let out a fluttery laugh. "Blaine may seem prepared to chat about anything with preplanned speech quality, but half the time we discuss intimate things he gets so flighty he has to change the topic."

"What do you mean?" Rachel frowned. "Finn and I could always discuss anything that was on my mind."

Kurt bit back any scathing remarks toward Rachel's last comment. "He just… if I get too close to certain things, he clams up and then he gives me that devastating Frank Sinatra smile of his and all of the sudden we're so caught up in something else I can't possibly bring back up what I wanted to talk to him about."

"You sure you're not just imagining this? We both do that sometimes." Rachel offered a comforting pat to Kurt's knee. "And remember the conversation we had about flaws? Now that you and Blaine are an item, you're going to see some things in him you didn't before, like when Finn and I-"

Mercedes cut her off smoothly. "I think what Rachel is trying to say is that maybe Blaine's good at talking about some things and when you hit something he doesn't know how to deal with he copes by dancing around it."

"Oh, he dances around it all right." Kurt rolled his eyes, and started numbering things off on his fingers. "He dances, kisses, smiles, laughs, licks his way around and toward anything he wants."

"Licks?" Rachel and Mercedes both leaned in, dying for more details.

Kurt blushed deeply, shaking his head adamantly, and babbling out an explanation. "The other day, he- it wasn't like a sexual thing- it was like a dog. He licked my face like a tragically attention-hungry puppy."

The girls exchanged a look before simultaneously bursting into laughter. Mercedes just barely choking out, "Oh, Kurt, you got yo' hands full with that one."

Kurt was so busy trying to quell the blood rush to his cheeks that he couldn't react fast enough when his phone vibrated again.

Mercedes snatched it up with lightning speed, using one hand to hold Kurt back while she opened up the message. "He wants to know if you can meet up right now."

"What?" Kurt renewed his struggle against Mercedes, groping for his phone. "He did not say that."

"Well, it was implied." Mercedes laughed, finally relinquishing the phone to Kurt.

The message was only a kissy smiley face. Kurt gave Mercedes one last scathing look before responding with the same flirtatious face to Blaine.

"So, are you gonna go sweep him off his feet? Lick him a little?" Mercedes and Rachel dissolved into giggles once more.

Kurt threw the abandoned _Vogue_ at Mercedes. "I am in the middle of a slumber party with my two _former_ best friends and I do not ditch out on my engagements."

"We're sorry, you know we're only playin' with you." Mercedes squeezed Kurt's hand. "And you have our full permission to go have a slumber party with yo' boy instead as long as we get full details."

"It wouldn't be their first sleep over," Rachel gave Kurt a knowing grin. "Or even their second."

"Hold up, what?" Mercedes eyes went wide.

"Rachel, don't be melodramatic." Kurt made a mental note to tell Finn to keep his mouth shut from time to time. "He spent the night on the couch last Friday. My dad wouldn't let him drive home in the storm."

"You didn't have a romantic midnight meeting?" Rachel hugged her knees to her chest.

"I planned on it, but he…" Kurt regarded both girls for a moment. "He…had a nightmare."

"You tried to get romantic for your boyfriend and he said he couldn't get with you cause he had a nightmare?" Mercedes looked nonplussed.

"No, no," Kurt frowned, feeling uncomfortable exposing such a personal moment, but the desire to finally be able to discuss it was too strong for him to just change the subject. "He was having a nightmare when I went upstairs. I woke him up, but he was so…shaken isn't the right word…it was like he had actually just seen a ghost or something. I've never seen him like that, except-"

Except that same night for the briefest of seconds when his hand had clamped around Kurt's wrist; he opted not to mention that moment to his girlfriends.

"Did you ask him about it?" Mercedes looked concerned.

"Once I calmed him down, yes, but he said he couldn't remember what it was about. I've tried bringing it up a couple times since then, but he acts like it never even happened."

"We all have bad dreams, maybe he just doesn't think it was that big of a deal." Mercedes offered.

"He wasn't just a little freaked out, 'Cedes. It took him a good three or four minutes to even talk to me. And even when I went back down to my bedroom he still seemed upset." Kurt looked at the picture of he and Blaine acting as his current cell phone background. Blaine's signature smile and happy eyes looked back at him.

"He's lying to you." Rachel stated flatly.

Kurt bristled a little at the accusation. "Excuse me?"

"He remembers what that dream was about." Rachel nodded her head confidently. "The question is, why won't he tell you?"

"Maybe he's embarrassed," Mercedes soothed. "Or maybe it's personal."

But Rachel's words had confirmed the little voice that had been nagging at Kurt for the past few days. "I'm his boyfriend, why wouldn't he confide in me?"

"You said for yourself he's not good at talking about a lot of things. Give him some time to come to it for himself."

"I practically had to force him to admit his feelings for me." Kurt replied dubiously.

Rachel's head was bobbing up and down again. "You have to make him open up to you, Kurt. It's not right for them to keep things from us."

Normally Kurt would have made some dry remark about the fact that, yet again, Rachel had managed to make things about herself and Finn, but he couldn't help but think that maybe, for once, she was right.

"Don't go knocking down doors he's not ready to open, Kurt, that just spells trouble, and you have a good thing going with Blaine." Mercedes warned, giving Rachel an irritated frown. "Besides, how would you feel if he just shoved into all your business?"

"He does, just in a very Blaine-ish way." Kurt put on his best puppy dog eyes and placed a hand above Mercedes' elbow. "Come on, Kurt, what is it? You know you can tell me."

Mercedes smiled at Kurt's Blaine impression, but shook her head. "You think he'd push it though, if you decided not to share?"

Kurt shrugged. "All this opening up can't just keep coming from one side though. I feel like he knows everything about me and I know nothing about him."

"So ask him point blank and if he doesn't want to tell, don't make him." Mercedes shrugged.

"Or," Rachel chimed in; "You can work him into a corner until he has to tell you what you want to know."

"Rachel, you will be the reason this couple blows up-" Mercedes went off on Rachel's 'crazy white girl antics', but Kurt sat in silence.

He suddenly had a flash of Blaine's face when he'd first awoken from the nightmare- cornered; terrified.

**A/N: So no Blaine in this chapter, but hopefully the girls have helped Kurt enough to worm something out of Blaine later on ;) Review, review, review! More to come soon**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee; credit to Pink for the song lyrics today

A/N: thank you so much to tellmamatobuggeroff, BreathexFreely, Muchacha, bree Tennyson, Castielle, and my anonymous reader for the kind complements and words of encouragement! I love to write, but it is even more pleasurable when I get to hear back from readers so a big thank you to all of you :)

**Chapter 4**

_Pretty, pretty please_

_If you ever, ever feel_

_Like you're nothin'_

_You are perfect to me_

Kurt couldn't help but smile as Blaine fell to his knees in front of him, grasping his hands in his own, singing up to him with a smile. Blaine might be a little bashful declaring his feelings in a conversation, but the boy could drop every inhibition when he sang, and he did it with his usual flair and charisma.

"We should have done that one for regional's." One of the boys grumbled as the song came to an end. Other members joined in to agree or protest. David slammed his gavel on the table, shouting for order.

Blaine brushed his knees off and straightened his tie, opting to smile and wink at Kurt as the rest quarreled. A typical Friday at Warblers' Practice. When David's gavel banging proved ineffective, Blaine finally intervened. His hands went into the air as he called for peace. "Warblers, I am flattered by your admiration of the song, but I must say that our songs for regional's were well decided and well performed by all. Maybe next year."

The group conceded a little begrudgingly, but nonetheless fell quiet as David began to discuss other matters on their agenda for practice. Kurt's eyes drifted toward the window where the sun shone brightly through. He felt a hand brush his knee, and when he turned his attention away from the April day outside, he found Blaine's eyes on him. "Hi." He mouthed.

Kurt glanced at David to ensure he wasn't going to become irritated by their inattentiveness before resting a hand lightly over Blaine's. As they left practice, Blaine slipped an arm around Kurt's waist, tugging him a little closer as they made their way to Blaine's car. Blaine had been exceptionally affectionate all week. Even showing up in Kurt's driveway that morning, a coffee in each hand, to drive him to school. They had plans to pick up Mercedes and Rachel at McKinley when New Directions ended their own glee club practice. Kurt laughed when Blaine sang every sappy song on the radio he could find, pulling Kurt's hand against his chest, an overdramatic look of adoration directed toward him at every stop light. Yes, Blaine was exceptionally _Blaine_ that week. Silly, sappy, and endlessly confident. Kurt drank it all in and found himself infected with his lover's bottomless cheer as he took his turn crying out the songs on the radio. The couple continued their silliness until they sat in the McKinley parking lot and Blaine cut the engine. Even with the radio off, Blaine seemed to pulsate with barely contained enthusiasm. Mercedes had been right about finding new parts to Blaine once he and Kurt had become a couple. Sure, he'd seen Blaine's awkwardness earlier- the Gap Attack incident, his mindless babblings before he'd kissed him for the first time, but there were so many more things he had found since the kiss. Blaine being seductive- his eyes going intense and his smile sultry, Blaine's endless determination to get what he wanted, and of course Blaine's enthusiasm and sheer folly, that had previously been contained under a cool exterior. It had frequently made appearances over the past few months— he had only licked him upon that one occasion, but in moments like these where he seemed to almost bounce in his seat, Kurt was reminded of a child on a sugar high.

Suddenly Blaine's eyes turned toward Kurt. He flashed him a quick smile, mellowing enough to rest the side of his face on the headrest of his seat. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?" Kurt replied, mirroring Blaine's sitting position.

"You're giving me a look." Blaine replied.

"Just admiring the view." Kurt shrugged with one shoulder.

Blaine opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak they were both startled by a loud thump from the hood of the car.

Kurt's breath caught momentarily when he saw David Karofsky glaring at him from the other side of the windshield. He felt warm, reassuring fingers slide over his own.

"Shh. He's just trying to scare you." Blaine's voice was gentle, even.

"It's working." Kurt snapped back, Karofsky had both hands on the hood of the car, glowering in at Kurt.

"He can't do anything." Blaine soothed. "The car's locked, and Rachel and Mercedes will be out soon."

Kurt felt Blaine's hand slide more fully into his own. He squeezed it tight and held David's gaze.

After a moment, Karofsky straightened up, still looking sourly between Blaine and Kurt.

"Jealous. That's all. Jealous I get you and scared to be himself." Blaine's voice was silk, his grip firm on Kurt's hand.

"Fags." Karofsky mouthed, giving them one last scowl before moving away from the car.

Kurt let out a long shaky breath and loosened his hold on Blaine's hand.

"Ya see? It's over." Blaine twisted in his seat and took up Kurt's free hand in his own. "All over."

Kurt's eyes drifted back to where Karofsky had been. "For now."

"You're at Dalton now. With me. You're safe, Kurt." Blaine raised both of Kurt's hands to his mouth and kissed them lightly. "Safe."

Kurt nodded absently, relieved to see Rachel and Mercedes coming toward the car. He wanted out of that parking lot as soon as possible.

The girls offered cheerful greetings as they slid into the backseat, but both immediately looked concerned upon seeing Kurt's face.

"You two okay? You look paler than normal, Kurt." Mercedes looked between her best friend and his boyfriend.

Kurt tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. "We had a little run in with that Neanderthal, Karofsky."

"Did he do anything to you? If he touched you, you know Puck and the boys would have his ass on a platter." Mercedes leaned forward, looking Kurt over for any sign of injury.

Blaine let go of one of Kurt's hands and rubbed his arm soothingly. "Nothing like that, he just stood outside the car- made his presence known. You're just a little shook up, right, Kurt? We're okay."

"We can leave right now; you don't even have to worry about it." Rachel gave Blaine a look to indicate he should start the car.

They pulled out of the lot and Rachel smiled at Kurt in the rearview mirror, "See? No more McKinley."

"Until my parents can't afford Dalton anymore." The fear had been a dragging sensation in the pit of his stomach ever since he'd overheard his father and Carol murmuring over how to pay tuition a few weeks earlier. A fear he had quietly kept to himself.

Blaine reached a hand over to squeeze Kurt's knee briefly, concern causing a line to form between his eyebrows. "Not yet. You've still got time."

Rachel's arms came up from behind the headrest to squeeze him around the shoulders, her chin resting on the seat behind his ear. "And when that happens, we'll all be here to take care of you. Finn won't let them touch you."

Kurt nodded slowly, swallowing again and again to try and regain his composure. He felt Blaine's hand squeeze his knee briefly. Kurt caught a glimpse of the scar, mostly hidden beneath a carefully gelled wave of hair, but with Blaine's face set in a frown, it showed ever so slightly. He couldn't think about that right now though, he was too focused on keeping the tears that stung the corners of his eyes from falling and he felt a twinge of guilt at having been able to kill Blaine's weeklong bliss so quickly. "You're right, it's stupid to worry about it when it hasn't even happened yet. Thanks guys."

Rachel kissed him on the cheek before settling back in her seat. Blaine offered one last reassuring squeeze, but before he could put it back on the steering wheel, Kurt caught his fingers with his own. Their hands rested above the cup holder between them.

"You ever get bullied at your old school, Blaine?" Mercedes asked after a brief silence.

Blaine nodded, glancing briefly in his side mirror as he changed lanes. "It's why I left."

"They ever knock you around?"

Kurt watched Blaine, but Blaine's eyes remained focused on the road. "Sometimes. Bullies have to show off whose boss somehow."

"Did you have someone to stand up for you?" Rachel asked.

Blaine paused for a moment. "Not in the end. No."

"In the end of being in public school. That was the last straw." Mercedes concluded.

Blaine's hand twitched in Kurt's ever so slightly. "Then I went to Dalton; I was sick of it. All's well that ends well though, right? And I'd say things have ended up pretty nice."

Kurt felt Blaine squeeze his hand and their eyes met briefly, a smile on Blaine's face. "We're seventeen, I'd hardly call things _over_."

"Not until we win Nationals." Rachel sing-songed, grinning at Mercedes.

"Not until we're all stars on Broadway." Mercedes corrected. All four cheered at that. Blaine turned the radio back on.

Much later that night, after dinner and a karaoke bar, Blaine drove toward Rachel's house.

"Spend the night, Blaine! My dads aren't even home. Even if they were, Kurt stays over all the time." Rachel wrapped her arms around Blaine the same way she had done to Kurt earlier that night. "Please?"

"I should head back; I don't have a rainstorm alibi this time for my mom." Blaine smiled at Rachel, lifting a hand from the steering wheel to squeeze her arm affectionately.

"Blaine Anderson, you're no fun at all. Come on; tell her you're staying with a friend. Be a little dangerous." Rachel and Mercedes had been sneaking shots from a friendly bartender all night- they'd even convinced Kurt to take a few once Blaine had reassured him he didn't mind. Blaine could smell the sweet scent of blueberry vodka on her breath.

Blaine hesitated. "I really shouldn't."

Rachel turned her head toward Kurt, keeping her arms wrapped around their chauffeur. "Kurt. Convince your boyfriend to stay and have fun with us. Sing to him. That always works."

Kurt reached over and put a hand just above his boyfriend's knee. "Blaine, darling, _sweetheart_. Pretty please with a Prada purse on top will you stay with us?"

"Tempting…" Blaine tried to think of another way to worm his way out, but with Rachel wrapped around his neck and Kurt's eyes looking so invitingly sweet…

Confident in the darkness of the car and the alcohol flowing through his veins, Kurt's hand slid up higher on Blaine's thigh. "Please, Blaine; for me?"

Blaine's breath caught. "…okay."

"Okay?" Mercedes and Rachel both chimed, anticipating his confirmation.

"Okay. I'll stay." Blaine would have laughed when Rachel and Mercedes both cheered and Rachel kissed both he and Kurt, but he was simply too focused on Kurt's hand that slid from the top of his leg to his inner thigh. He swallowed down a gasp of pleasure that had nearly escaped his control.

Upon arriving at Rachel's house, he called his mother to inform her that he and Wes were still working on some Warblers' background arrangements and he'd be home later the next day. The four paraded down to Rachel's basement, taking turns singing on the little stage until enough alcohol had faded from their systems to settle down for a movie and finally sleep.

Mercedes was curled on one end of the bed and Rachel on the other, Blaine and Kurt wedged between them. Kurt watched Blaine briefly. He looked…nervous.

"Can't you sleep?" Kurt whispered.

"Not just yet." Blaine murmured, looking at Kurt out of the corner of his eyes. "Can't you?"

"I'm uncomfortable." Kurt complained.

Blaine rolled over onto his stomach, facing Kurt. Kurt tilted his face down and kissed Blaine once, softly, quietly. Blaine snuggled his head into Kurt's chest, his hair brushing the bottom side of his chin. "Better?"

"Much better." Kurt settled into the little space opened up on the mattress. He looped a hand under Blaine's arm, wrapping his arm around Blaine's back. "Now to get you to sleep…"

Blaine laid still, Kurt's hand smoothing his back, but he did not drift off. He remained tensed.

"Still can't sleep?" Kurt whispered somewhere above his head.

Blaine nodded against Kurt's chest.

"What's keeping you awake?" Kurt kneaded small circles in the tense shoulders below him.

A slow shrug of one shoulder was all Blaine gave as a response. Maybe he could slip out once Kurt fell asleep…

"Are you scared you'll have another nightmare?"

Kurt felt Blaine's body tense beneath his hands for a moment then still once again.

"Blaine?" Kurt pressed when Blaine remained silent. He was surprised and a little relieved when he felt Blaine's head nod against his chest once again.

Blaine tried to think of a snide remark, a sarcastic joke about feeling emasculated by the possibility of acting fearful twice in front of his boyfriend, but his mouth didn't want to work; his vocal folds refused to vibrate and produce sound.

"Do you have nightmares a lot, Blaine?" Kurt's voice was soft. When Blaine remained mute he knew he hadn't fallen asleep—his body was still tense, his breathing neither deep nor even. "After my mom died, I used to have a reoccurring nightmare that I would get buried alive. I just had it again last year." Kurt shuttered a little at the thought.

Blaine's hand on his chest rubbed briefly up and down. "Do you still miss her? Does it still hurt?"

"Sometimes." Kurt murmured back. "Not as often as it used to, but it still hurts the same when I do."

Blaine nodded again; he could hear Kurt's heart beating below his ear. He could feel his own heart beating in time with it. He took comfort in synchrony, he always had- voices in unison, pounding hearts; fingers that fit together neatly. A shiver went down his spine- unexpected and inexplicable.

Kurt felt the quick shudder. He squeezed his arm around Blaine tighter, that involuntary movement telling him more than Blaine's words ever did. "Your nightmares repeat themselves, too."

Blaine considered saying, "Sometimes…not as often as they used to, but it still hurts the same when they do."

He considered it, but he didn't. Instead he stared off into the darkness of the room around them, inhaling the smell of laundry detergent and cologne from the body so close to his own. "Kurt?"

Kurt felt Blaine's warm breath through the fabric of his t-shirt. He wanted to be able to see Blaine's face, but the darkness of the room- with no moon outside and no artificial light to penetrate it- was too complete, "Yeah?"

"I love you."

**A/N: So, not the secrets you might have been hoping for from Mr. Anderson, but a big confession nonetheless on his part. Drop me a review pretty, pretty please with a Prada purse on top? ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee

Chapter 5

"Warbler Blaine!" David's voice roused Blaine's attention.

"Hmm?" Blaine directed his sleepy eyes and drunken smile toward the council table.

David regarded him for a moment with displeasure, and then shifted his attention to Kurt who was watching him with the same facial expression. "Brief ten minute recess, Warblers; you're dismissed. Warbler Blaine and Warbler Kurt. Stay."

The others filtered from the room, casting curious glances over their shoulders toward the remaining members.

David moved from the council table, a general member's rule book in hand, to stand before the remaining members. He regarded them both with irritation before shaking his head, his anger melting away and his formal presence with it. "If you two are so _damn_ in love you can't sit through one Warblers' meeting, you could at least make good use of it and sing about it."

Kurt would have been embarrassed, but he was too caught up in Blaine's blissful voice, "Sure. What song?"

Abruptly, David raised the book in his hand and swatted Blaine across the back of the head. "Whatever one will get you back to participating in this group, _sir_."

Blaine's smile slipped as he looked up at David in alarm, a hand going up to rub the back of his head. "Unnecessary, Warbler David."

"On the contrary, I think it was _quite_ necessary. Unless you would like another one to reprogram that head of yours, it would be in both of your best interests to focus for at least the next half hour. After that, do as you please." David looked from Blaine to Kurt. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal." Kurt smiled serenely up at the older boy.

David nodded slowly; his sense of authority slowly bandaging any wounds it had felt from Kurt and Blaine's lovesick lack of attention. "Good."

When David turned toward the door to call the other Warblers back in, Blaine stole a quick kiss.

When practice (finally) ended, Kurt folded his arm around the crook of Blaine's elbow, floating out to the car along side him. _Seventeen days_. It had been exactly seventeen days since Blaine had confessed his full-blown love to Kurt in the darkness of Rachel's bedroom. Seventeen _perfect_ days.

When they reached Kurt's car, Blaine leaned him into the closed door, nuzzling his nose against Kurt's in a silly Eskimo kiss. "Call me when you get home?"

"Of course." Kurt caught the back of Blaine's neck with one hand and pressed a kiss to his mouth before climbing into his car. He smiled dreamily as he backed from his parking space, Blaine watching him pull away with his hands folded neatly behind his back.

He, Kurt Hummel, was madly in love, and he didn't care who knew it. _Rachel_ had even declared him overdramatic in his affections, but Kurt didn't mind. She just didn't understand what it was to have Blaine look at him with such sheer adoration. He had truly never been happier- going to sleep was a chore while waking up at five each day was greeted as an absolute treat. He could not get enough of Blaine's presence. Now that they had exchanged those precious words, it was as if a flip had been switched, showing them a whole new world of intimacy and desire. He loved Blaine so much it seemed to physically hurt at times. Oh, but the hurt was _so_ wonderful. Kurt played with the radio until he found a song he liked, smiling to himself the entire way home. He pulled into the driveway and was surprised to see both Carol and his Father's cars parked in the garage.

He hung his coat in the hall closet and pulled off his shoes once inside. He was about to shout out a hello when he noted both Carol and Burt seated on the family room couch.

"Hey, bud, how was school?" His father smiled at him dully, an oily baseball cap still on his head from his day at the shop.

"Great. You're home early." Kurt unbuttoned his blazer and loosened his tie.

"We wanted to talk to you about something. Why don't you come sit down?" Burt motioned toward the empty armchair.

Kurt glanced between his father and Carol as he settled down into the chair. "Is something wrong?"

Burt and Carol exchanged a look. Carol spoke first, tentative, "Well, not exactly sweetie, but-"

Burt settled a hand on her knee before starting over. "I guess you could say there is, kiddo, and I don't think you're gonna like what we have to say."

Kurt's hands tensed on his knees; he frowned. "What is it?"

Burt sighed, he pulled his hat off and rubbed his head once, "We can't afford the Dalton tuition anymore, Kurt. I know you love it there, and you've made friends, and you've got your buddy, Blaine…but we've stretched it as thin as we can, and…we just can't do it anymore. I'm so sorry, Kurt."

Kurt stared vacantly at his father. His ears rang so loudly he could barely hear his own voice. "When…when do I have to go back to McKinley?"

Burt replaced his hat and his eyes met Kurt's sadly. "Next week."

It was a Wednesday. Two days. Two days at Dalton with the smell of varnish and new books. Two days with the Warblers, intricately planning a Capella arrangements. Two days with Blaine meeting him between every class, his fingers laced between his own. Two days. Kurt felt dizzy.

"We've already been in to talk with Principal Figgins. If anyone so much as looks at you funny, they're out the door." Burt hunched forward onto his knees. "I really am sorry, Kurt. If there's anyway I can come up with the money again, I swear-"

Kurt momentarily shook himself from his downward spiral. His fear for his father's health over road any terrors he had for his own well being, and in that moment, Burt Hummel looked so stressed that Kurt was sure he might have another heart attack right there in the family room. Kurt shook his head slowly, the action felt clumsy, "It'll be fine, Dad. The glee club will help watch out for me."

"I know it's going to be hard to leave Dalton, especially with Blaine still there. We know how important he is to you, Kurt." Carol rested a hand on his father's.

"I-" Kurt took in a breath to steady himself, "I can still see him all the time. He doesn't live that far away."

"Kurt, we're-" his dad started in again.

Kurt rose and placed a reassuring hand on his father's shoulder. "Please, dad, don't apologize again. It was so kind of you and Carol to send me to Dalton in the first place. We all knew it could only be temporary, I just have to face reality now."

Burt nodded, pressing a hand over his son's. "You need anything, buddy?"

"No, I'm just going to go down to my room for awhile, if you don't mind." Kurt slipped his hand out from under his father's and made for the basement door as deliberately as he could. He turned the lock into place and half-stumbled down the stairs, collapsing with his face in his pillows the moment he got near enough to his bed. A muffled sob shook his body, and, for a while, he let the tears fall freely. He should know better than to let his guard down, especially when he was so perfectly happy. What had he expected? That the money for Dalton would just keep appearing so he could remain tucked away in his own little corner of Heaven for the rest of time? He was disgusted with himself. He knew better than to trust perfection; something always screwed things up. Once he felt he'd used up most of his tears, he lay still, his eyes dully cast toward the opposite wall. He tried to make his mind blank, free of any thought related to the coming Monday. He watched shadows shift from the small window well outside, informing him of the passing hours. Finn must have been warned to avoid their shared room for a while, because no one ever so much as tried the door handle. Finally, when the sun had set low enough that the entire room was filled with a soft, hazy darkness, Kurt heard a key turn in the lock upstairs.

"Kurt, I'm sorry to intrude." He heard Carol's voice from the top of the steps.

"It's fine, Carol." He called back.

As her footsteps came nearer, Kurt managed to pull himself into a sitting position on his bed. When she emerged at the base of the steps, a plate of food in hand, he even tried to smile for her.

"I wasn't sure you'd be up to joining us upstairs, so I brought you down some dinner, sweetie." She put the plate down on his nightstand.

"Thanks, Carol, that was sweet of you." Kurt tried again to offer her a smile.

"Please do come up or call for one of us if you need anything." Carol cupped a soft palm to his cheek briefly. "I know this must be terrible to have put on you so abruptly."

Kurt bit back any remaining tears that might threaten to break from his control. "I'll get past it, I just need some time."

"We love you, Kurt. You know that, right?" Carol searched his eyes.

"Of course I do." Kurt touched his fingers to her hand briefly. "Thank you again for dinner."

She smiled, smoothed his bangs, and went back up the steps without another word.

Kurt listened for the click of the closed door before settling back down in his bed, his eyes cast listlessly in the direction of the plate. The smell of its untouched contents twisted his stomach in knots until he was forced to rouse himself from bed and dump the entire thing in the bathroom garbage. He crawled back into his bed, pulling the covers over his head until he was surrounded with humid, almost claustrophobic heat. Despite the close, muggy temperature, Kurt was soothed by the comfort of being surrounded so closely on all sides- safe from anything that might decide to sneak up on him.

* * *

He couldn't find his locker. He tried every door. Some remained firmly locked. Others sprang open, but their contents were never his own belongings. Water poured from more than one of them, while others contained only an unfamiliar backpack and books.

"What are you doing, Kurt?" Blaine's familiar voice asked as he appeared at Kurt's side.

"I can't find my locker. It's gone." Kurt looked helplessly at Blaine.

"You can use mine." Blaine grabbed his hand and pulled him down a long hallway until they reached the junior locker banks. He dialed in the combination, stepped aside, and motioned for Kurt to open it.

Kurt smiled at Blaine, relieved to have a place for his things. He stepped forward and tried the door. It stuck fast.

"You have to pull hard." Blaine advised, folding his hands behind his back.

Kurt gave the door a hard tug and felt it shift ever so slightly. He gave it another forceful jerk. The door burst open, and a wave of red burst forth...

He woke sweating; the comforter still over his head. He pealed all the blankets off, relieved to be free of their weight and stifling warmth. He breathed in the fresh oxygen around him for a moment before noting the silence. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and realized he still had a few minutes before his alarm would go off. He considered settling back into bed, but then roused himself instead. Those extra three minutes before class would be three minutes to add to the forty-eight hours he had left at Dalton. He skipped his usual detour to the kitchen that morning, not ready to force a smile for his parents and reassure them that he understood why he was being placed back in his own personal hell.

When he got in his car, he fiddled with the radio for a few minutes before turning it off. For once, music offered him no solace. He pulled into a spot near the front of the lot, and stared up at the building before him for a moment. He was glad he had forgone breakfast—his stomach twisted itself in a knot, nauseous with the loss he already felt for this beautiful place. He slipped his bag over his shoulder and locked his car, but he didn't bother to take off his sunglasses as he strode toward the front doors. He managed a smile and a friendly hello for the few classmates he passed on the way to his locker. His hands didn't tremble as he placed his books in his locker; he was just numb. He stared vacantly at the pictures taped to the inside of the door, the stack of books neatly aligned in the space in front of him, his thoughts drifted momentarily back to his previous night's dream.

A warm arm enveloped his waist from behind and a familiar cologne and coffee scent soon followed, stirring him from his thoughts. Blaine's chin rested on his shoulder and his free hand came around to hold a cup in front of Kurt's face. "Your usual."

Kurt took the offered paper cup in both hands; he put it down on the shelf of his locker. His eyes focused on it, not ready to face his boyfriend just yet, "You're wonderful."

"You didn't call last night." Blaine pouted, the scruff of his cheek still brushing Kurt's neck.

"Sorry." Kurt swallowed once.

"Hey," Blaine took a step back and turned Kurt lightly with one hand on his shoulder, so he had no choice but to face him. His voice took on its soothing mentor quality, "Kurt, what's wrong?"

Kurt met Blaine's eyes, he had barely registered the concern in them before his own vision was swimming with tears he had no hope of keeping from spilling over. "My parents- th-they can't afford Dalton anymore. I go back next week."

Before a sob could even fully break free, Blaine had him pulled into a tight hug against his chest. Kurt's body shuddered under his hands; his tears soaking the collar of his uniform and all he could do was murmur into his lover's hair, over and over like a mantra, "I'm so sorry, Kurt. I'm so sorry."

Kurt didn't attempt to form words; he had none. He felt only the hurt of knowing that Blaine's safe embrace would not be able to comfort him once he was back in the halls of McKinley. He listened to the sound of Blaine's calm voice, stopping in his soothing only to dismiss anyone who stopped to question what was wrong. Finally, he swallowed down his remaining tears and straightened up, Blaine's hands slipping to rest on his elbows.

Blaine waited in silence as Kurt forcefully rubbed the tears from his face, but still he held on gently, as though Kurt might suddenly fall.

Kurt's eyes drifted to Blaine's uniform. His collar was wet and wrinkled. "Oh God, look what I've gone and done to your shirt."

"Forget about that." Blaine didn't bother glancing down to inspect the damage. His eyes remained on Kurt. "Look at me, Kurt."

Kurt's red-rimmed eyes drifted back up to Blaine's reluctantly. Sure, he had been known to cry at the drop of a hat, but somehow facing Blaine now, he was embarrassed. Embarrassed for his weakness. Blaine's eyes, though sad, remained clear. "I'm sorry for dropping this on you like this-"

Blaine shook his head, "You have nothing to apologize for. Everything's going to be okay. All right?"

Kurt's eyes drifted away again. "How can you even begin to say that?"

"Hey, it will be." Blaine ran his hands up and down Kurt's arms. "Your friends at McKinley will watch out for you, and I'm not going anywhere; you can do this, Kurt. I know you can."

Kurt met Blaine's eyes again. "And what if I can't?"

Blaine's hands stopped on his shoulders, he smiled. "You can."

"Could you?" Kurt searched Blaine's face. "Could you go back to your old school?"

It was Blaine's turn to look away, his smile slipping. "I don't know."

Kurt felt oddly disappointed. Blaine- his source of confidence, his source of a yearning to be better- had faltered. Kurt felt somehow responsible for that little fault line in the man he loved. He drooped back into Blaine's chest, not wanting to see the look of hesitance in his eyes anymore.

Blaine let out a long breath, his arms wrapped back around Kurt, his chin resting in his hair. "Two days."

"Two days." Kurt echoed.

Kurt savored every second of every hour with increasing heartache for each minute that passed. The Warblers had been painfully kind to him; even David had dropped his usual business persona to offer comforting words. His classmates offered condolences and expressed their sadness at his upcoming departure with hands clapped down on his shoulder, hugs from some of his better friends, and even some tears shining over some of the boys' eyes. And there was Blaine. He waited for Kurt outside every class, no matter how far away his own schedule took him, his fingers constantly finding Kurt's, soft kisses placed in his hair whenever the mood struck him- which was frequently. Despite his reassurances that nothing would change between them, he acted like Kurt was a soldier departing for war in some distant, battle torn country while he remained on the safe, familiar shores of home. When Warbler's practice was called to a close on Friday afternoon, the drop of Wes's gavel felt like the declaration of a prison sentence to Kurt. He didn't move from the couch. Each Warbler offered a sad goodbye, a squeeze to his knee, an invitation to visit at any time. They lined up like guests at a funeral home, offering condolences until only he and Blaine were left.

Kurt looked around the room, his throat tight. Blaine's hand on his knee, and his eyes focused on Kurt's profile, ready to gather him into his arms the moment he might need it.

"I can't believe it's over." Kurt slowly rose to his feet, still gazing around the room- the whole situation feeling surreal.

Blaine stood too, his eyes never leaving Kurt's face, but, for once, he wasn't sure what words to offer. He remained silent.

"I'm scared." Kurt whispered, his eyes settled on the window.

Blaine stepped in front of the other boy, cupping Kurt's face between both his hands so their eyes were forced to meet. "Do you trust me, Kurt?"

"Of course I do." Kurt blinked, fighting back tears.

Blaine stared hard into his lover's eyes. "I'll make sure you're safe. I promise you."

Kurt stared back. Sweet Blaine, forever the mentor, protector, and savior. "I- I believe you."

Blaine pulled him into a rough hug, his arms tight around him. He would make this okay.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee and music credit in this chapter goes to Keane

**Chapter 7**

"You ready, man?" Finn looked over at Kurt, as he shrugged his backpack over his shoulder.

Kurt let out a sigh, his hands dropping from the steering wheel. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Cool." Finn smiled and clambered out of the car.

Kurt remained where he was, staring out at the groups of students filtering in to McKinley. He spied Mr. Schuster's car- it's exhaust pipe resting on the asphalt, only have holding onto the car above it. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

"You can do this. I love you."

The words made Kurt's heart ache but also gave him the momentum he needed to push himself out of the car and toward the doors. Finn had been idling a few yards ahead, and once Kurt reached his side, the two walked toward the building. The hallways felt strange- familiar yet foreign. The harsh fluorescents and dirtied linoleum were a far cry from the polished marble and warm mahogany of Dalton. And there was no Blaine. Kurt swallowed down the hurt of that last thought.

"You gotta admit the chance to break those fabulous clothes back out everyday makes being back here almost worth it." Mercedes arm was suddenly looped through his own.

Kurt glanced down at his Armani sweater and offered Mercedes a weak smile. "Almost."

"And yo' best girl back on your arm." Mercedes offered with another bright smile.

"And there' s that." Kurt agreed with a nod, he reached his locker and began placing his things down in it, he hadn't brought anything to adorn the inside of the door. He couldn't bring himself to nest back into the place just yet.

"Not the same as having your boy here though." Mercedes spoke softly from beside him.

Kurt's hands paused in their activity. "No. It's not."

Mercedes offered a quick squeeze to his arm. "Just hang in there. You'll get used to it again."

Kurt slammed the door shut, but before he could respond, he felt his body catapult toward the wall, his shoulder striking the metal with the same sound his locker door had just made as he closed it. He looked up in alarm to see Karofsky already a few yards down the hall. Their eyes met.

"Welcome back, Faggot!" He smiled and turned the corner.

Kurt watched the hall for a moment before looking back at Mercedes. "Yeah, feels just like old times already."

The familiarity only intensified. The classes, whose material was watery at best and taught with little enthusiasm, nearly put Kurt to sleep. An occasional shove into a near by locker bank. His sweater was not marred by a single slushie, much to his surprise (he had brought the usual change of clothes to store safely in his locker until they were needed), but he was none the less depressed as he dragged himself into the choir room at three o' clock. The Glee members welcomed him back warmly (except Brittany who was suspicious of him acting as a spy and then confused by where he had been for the past six months). Mr. Schu had been so inspired by his return that he wrote the words "COMING HOME' in bold letters on the white board and informed them all of their weekly assignment. Kurt didn't feel at home- he felt torn from his home. But, as New Direction's practice progressed, he did feel a certain easing in the ache of his chest. He watched Mike perform a dance routine, Puck sing with increasing affection to Lauren, Brittany snuggled in Artie's lap while Rachel battled Mr. Schuster for control of the group. He had missed this, no matter how much he had loved the Warblers, and now he would get to go to Nationals. When he and Finn had finally pulled into their driveway, he was able to answer his parent's bombardment of questions truthfully.

No, Karofsky hadn't threatened to kill him.

No, he was not having trouble getting back into classes, they put him to sleep.

Yes, they were right; things had been okay.

With his father satisfied with Kurt's answers and Carol having felt she'd fulfilled her maternal duties by shoving cookies into both boys' hands before they left the kitchen, Kurt was finally dismissed from their interrogation so he could call Blaine.

He picked up on the second ring. "How was it?"

"Hello to you too." Kurt replied, dropping the cookie in the garbage as he settled down onto his bed. "It was fine."

"Did Karofsky bother you?"

"Calm down, you sound like my dad." Kurt rolled his eyes, rising back to his feet to go poke through his closet. "No, we're actually best friends now. He's openly gay and accepting of people from all walks of life. He's working on achieving world peace."

"Glad to hear he's gotten a little more open-minded." The tension in Blaine's voice momentarily eased. "Really though, did he leave you alone?"

"Other than a few hardy shoves into the lockers and warm welcome back, he kept to himself." Kurt pulled a navy v-necked t-shirt from his closet to look over. "How was your day?"

"Awful lonely without you." Blaine sounded sincere.

"The feeling's mutual." Kurt sighed, replacing the shirt. They both fell silent for a moment.

"New Directions working on anything good for Nationals?" Blaine's voice sounded cheery again. "I'm sure they're relieved to have you back. Definitely ups their chances."

The conversation drifted on for over an hour until Kurt decided it was best to let Blaine busy himself with his homework- a workload that would take much longer than any of the fill-in-the-blank sheets he'd been given at McKinley. "I have a lot of homework to do, Blaine. I really should let you go."

Blaine sighed. "If you must… don't work too hard, okay?"

"Trust me, you don't have to worry about that." Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'll call you tomorrow. I love you."

"I love you too. And Kurt?"

"Hmm?" Kurt started prodding through his shoeboxes.

"I'm so proud of you." Blaine's voice was soft. "You're much braver than I can ever hope to be."

"Stop that." Kurt laughed and felt a blush of pleasure at Blaine's admiration. "You're the inspiration to any scraps of confidence I have in doing this, so give yourself the pat on the back."

"Strength comes from within, Kurt. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Look in the mirror when you say that, Blaine. I'm not the only one shrugging off my own credibility." Kurt picked up the photo booth strip of pictures he had moved from his Dalton locker to his vanity. "And finish your history paper. It's due on Friday and I won't be in the library tomorrow to force you to write it."

It was another hour before Blaine's mother calling him down a third time for dinner forced them to finally truly end their conversation. With the line dead, Kurt felt lonely again. He taped the picture to his mirror and stared up at it. Reality sucked.

The rest of the week dragged by, he and Blaine's phone conversations were cut shorter on Wednesday and Thursday- Blaine had a chemistry midterm to study for and, despite Kurt's warnings, he put off his History paper until Thursday evening. When Friday afternoon came, Kurt received the final bell with a sense of relief. One week down. A million more to go. He walked toward the choir room, not minding being a little too early for practice.

"Hey, Homo!" A voice called.

Kurt turned instinctively to see the speaker. He caught the flash of a letterman jacket before a wave of icy red stung his eyes, burned cold trails down his neck. To add insult to injury, while still blinded by red dye #7 leaking down over his eyelashes, he was slammed into a locker bank, tripping over his own feet. He sat on the floor for a few minutes, listening to the departing laughter and footsteps and blinking until his vision cleared. He should have known he wouldn't make it an entire week without a single slushie thrown in his face. As he walked toward his locker to retrieve his spare outfit, he wondered absently how the offender had managed to keep the thing cold for so long…maybe they'd snuck off campus during sixth period to go and purchase it… he went into the boys bathroom to cleanse himself- it being a Friday afternoon, he wasn't too concerned with any jocks lingering after classes and sneak attacking him. He washed his face, cleaned his hair, changed his shirt and squeezed in some eye drops to ease the pain. He'd forgotten how much those things stung. By the time he deemed himself presentable, he was ten minutes late for Glee. He rushed down the hall, but then slowed his pace so he could enter with his usual diva-like aloofness. He pushed open the choir room door to find everyone seated, and all eyes glued to him. Something wasn't right. They all grinned with anticipation.

"I know you guys are glad to have me back, but this is just sort of creepy." He frowned at them.

He was about to move toward his usual seat beside Mercedes when someone began playing at the piano. Kurt glanced over his shoulder, first confused at seeing Brad standing a few feet from the piano bench, then feeling a rush of adrenaline at seeing the piano's player.

I walked across, an empty land

I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

Blaine's sweet voice, his sweet smile. Here. In McKinley. Kurt stood frozen in place. Blaine's smile only widened as he continued singing. After a few more lines, Brad took over the piano and Blaine stood. Making his way slowly around the piano, his eyes on Kurt's.

Oh simple thing, where have you gone?

I'm getting old and need something to rely on…

He didn't move immediately to Kurt. He took his time, moving around the room with familiar ease. Blaine had never cared for preplanned choreography, preferring his own natural movements to fit his lyrics. He directed his singing toward the group, all the while his steps taking him more and more in Kurt's direction until he was finally close enough that Kurt could smell spearmint and Crew hair gel.

So why don't we go, somewhere only we know?

He took one step closer, his hands folded behind his back as he finished his number.

Somewhere only we know

The song ended and the group applauded wildly. Kurt stood still for a moment longer before throwing his arms around Blaine's neck, unable to keep his excitement in check for a moment longer.

Blaine's laugh and arms around him. That was home. When Kurt finally allowed Blaine to take a step back, he wanted to squeeze him close all over again as he looked at that wonderful face.

"Surprise." Blaine grinned, wrapping Kurt in another hug.

"Did you- How- did you all know?" Kurt looked around in bewilderment at the group.

"Blaine came in and asked to do a number on Tuesday." Mr. Schuster looked pleased, as though he himself had come up with the whole thing. "He worked it all out with Brad the same night."

"I told you I had more important things to do than my paper on Tuesday." Blaine grinned at Kurt before giving a polite nod toward Mr. Schuster and the group. "Thank you again, for extending the opportunity."

"Thank you for the performance," Mr. Schuster stood to address the group motioning a hand for Blaine and Kurt to have a seat. "Blaine has actually agreed to help us work on some of our choreography and a Capella arrangements every Friday. So lets give a big round of applause for our newest honorary member."

Kurt looked at Blaine in pleasure-filled surprise. He wanted to kiss him right there. "You just can't keep away, can you?"

Blaine rested a casual arm around the back of Kurt's chair. "Not a chance."

As Mr. Schuster continued talking and the other members gave their coming home-themed performances, Kurt and Blaine exchanged happy glances. Blaine stood and gave a talk on organic choreography, using Kurt as his assistant for demonstrating many of the movements. The rest of the group reacted with enthusiasm, all infected with Blaine's charm, and pleased by the light he caused in Kurt's smile (Puck actually looked mildly uncomfortable, but Lauren elbowed him harshly enough in the ribs, that eventually even he smiled). When they returned to their seats, Blaine leaned in to murmur in Kurt's ear.

"You smell like…cherry." Blaine smiled slightly, but looked suspicious. Kurt had regaled him tales of getting slushied in the past, "Any particular reason?"

Kurt smiled and slid his chair close enough to Blaine's so that their shoulders were touching; he slipped his fingers between Blaine's. "It doesn't matter anymore."

A/N: Sooo I am not much a fan of this cheesy type fluff, but sometimes it's just kind of necessary (sorry to those of you that are equally turned off by it) but i promise it gets better? reviews are away welcome and appreciated :)


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the mix up on the chapter title last time- I ended up smashing together two chapters to make chapter six and never changed the label I guess. whoops. Anyway, without further ado, here's chapter 7;

**Chapter 7**

Kurt hungered for Fridays. Ached for them. _Lived_ for them. He kept a calendar in his locker, slashing the other four school days each week with a heavily Sharpie'd black X. The other Glee members seemed to especially enjoy them, too. Blaine's presence meant that Journey would not be making an appearance in their set list, it meant Rachel would actually give up center stage willingly to her short-lived love interest, and, for many of them, it meant seeing one of their own entirely happy.

The guys respected Blaine's talents, and his ability to still be able to discuss sports and cars despite his slight flamboyance, but it was the girls who especially loved Blaine, and Blaine loved them. Whether the cause was his sexuality or always attending classes with only the same gender, not even Blaine was sure, but he exulted in the company of women. He flirted with them and teased them—making suggestive jokes with Santana, letting Brittany dance up on him during songs, throwing winks and flirtatious smirks to Lauren while he sang; even Quinn was not immune to his charm, letting him pull her onto his lap and tease her about being prettier than all of the Barbie's he'd wished he could play with as a child. Kurt took it all with good humor, secure in Blaine not suddenly switching teams after the little Rachel-Blaine-sexuality-confusion earlier that year. He had even been able to laugh in shock the day Brittany had, without warning, kissed Blaine full on the mouth, offering only the explanation that she wanted to see if all gay guys kissed the same (her conclusion was that they did not). Kurt actually enjoyed seeing all of them falling in love with his boyfriend. He took pleasure in their envy that- despite all his eyelash batting and doting complements- at the end of the day, it was only Kurt who Blaine looked to with hungry eyes and devoted smiles.

It was three weeks into Blaine's Friday visits and they were all pleased with not only Blaine's company, but also the lessons he had provided. The group was confident for Nationals, and especially so after their first dress rehearsal. The group exited the auditorium together, chattering happily with Blaine and Kurt in the lead, flanked by Quinn with a hand tucked around Blaine's elbow and Mercedes at Kurt's. As they made their way down the hallway, they suddenly fell silent. Blaine looked around at them, confused. "What's going on?"

Kurt's eyes were directed further down the hall, and Blaine followed his gaze until his eyes settled on a small pack of boys in letterman jackets, emerging from the locker room. "Ah."

The pack was walking toward them purposefully. Mercedes and Quinn instinctively stepped back. Kurt would have too, but Blaine caught his hand in his own, his eyes on the larger boys moving toward them. "Don't run away. They're only people. Ignorant people."

Kurt tugged at Blaine's hand. "No, Blaine, you don't get it, they're going to-"

He knew it was no use; he closed his eyes tightly, just in time. He felt the slick ice sliding down his neck, under his collar. He let go of Blaine's hand to wipe the slush from his eyes. Purple today. He looked over at Blaine and was alarmed to see blue slush dripping down the sides of his face.

Blaine rubbed his eyes- he hadn't known to close them before the slushie dropped down over him- but he didn't look particularly mortified. Once his vision was cleared, he studied his fingers for a moment; he looked back up to Karofsky and the other two leering back at him. He smiled.

Kurt had to hold back a gasp of shock.

Blaine sucked the colored syrup from his fingers before glancing over at Kurt; he reached up his cleaned fingers, swiped Kurt's cheek with a pinkie, and sucked it clean before speaking. "I like yours better."

Kurt stared dumbly. He decided Blaine was in shock.

Blaine's eyes turned back to the three bigger boys, who now just looked confused. "Blue's not really my color, fellas."

"Blaine." Kurt hissed. In shock or not, Blaine was going to get himself killed.

Karofsky caught the collar of Blaine's shirt in both fists, raising him up to his tip toes "You fucking faggot-"

"Hey!" Puck and Sam both stepped forward, ready to defend one of their own.

Blaine, however, raised a hand, "It's all right, guys."

Karofsky let go of Blaine, so his feet were evenly back on the ground, but he slammed his back against the locker banks, a fist raised. "How about a black eye, that go better with your skin tone, queer?"

Blaine looked up at the raised fist and then back at Karofsky, his eyes still placid. He raised his eyebrows then let them drop back down. Karofsky's fist came down hard on the spot nearest Blaine's head, making the metal quiver and resound with a thwack. Blaine flinched only slightly at the noise.

David let go of Blaine's shirt and took a step back, looking agitated.

Blaine remained where he was, but straightened his tie, watching the larger jock almost curiously.

Karofsky's minions exchanged a look and murmured something back and forth. David had to do something. He could not let this preppy private school homo get the best of him; he wanted him shaken. He _needed _him shaken. He pivoted on his heel abruptly and shoved Kurt away from the pack toward the other two jocks.

"Easy." Blaine straightened up further, his voice a flat warning.

Karofsky had found the kindling he needed, he kept his attention on Kurt. "You should teach your _girlfriend _some manners, Kurt."

Kurt glowered at him; "Don't talk about-"

Karofsky loomed over him. "What? What did you just say?"

Kurt's bravery faltered and it took him a moment to get his mouth to open, but David beat him to it.

"You don't get to talk to me like that, you fuckin' faggot; you don't get to talk to me at all!" Karofsky took a step forward.

Kurt stumbled back a pace, but only to have each arm grabbed in a vice-like grip by the two men he'd forgotten about behind him. He felt his adrenaline spike.

"That's enough!" Blaine's voice rang out, loud and venomous.

Even Karofsky jumped a little at the sound. He turned to study the smaller boy. Blaine's eyes were dark, his mouth curled into a snarl. His hands shook.

The face before him had disturbed Karofsky, but the hands reminded him of his goal. He had won. He turned his attention back to Kurt, leaning in so their eyes were close, his voice low. "You watch your mouth and keep that homo shit out of this place. You're not at your Fag Fairyland prep school anymore. We don't do that here. Got it?"

Kurt nodded his head quickly, his bravery long gone.

Karofsky stepped back and nodded to the other two to let him go. Kurt slipped to the floor between them, terrified and near tears with embarrassment.

With one last glance in Blaine's direction, Karofsky stalked away. The whole group rushed toward Kurt, a frenzy of hands trying to pull him to his feet, their voices mixing together into a nonsensical garble of words. Kurt allowed them to pull him to his feet, but he ignored their demands he go to Figgins, their questions about if he had been hurt. He sought out Blaine's face. "What the hell were you thinking?"

The group moved a little from their crush around Kurt, allowing Blaine to move in closer. "Kurt, I'm sorry, I-"

"You're lucky he didn't try to smash your face in." Kurt snapped, and then louder he repeated again, "What the hell were you thinking!"

Blaine sighed, "He wouldn't."

The entire group stared at him in confusion. Puck was the one to finally speak up, "I'm not gonna lie, dude, that was bad ass and all, but the kid's double your size."

"Big, angry teddy bear." Blaine muttered, shaking his head. "There's a lot of bad people in this world, but Karofsky's a little dog with a loud bark. His anger comes from fear. That's all."

Kurt glowered at Blaine. "You didn't seem so sure of that when they had a hold of me."

"That- I- I wasn't going to risk that." Blaine's hand went up toward his hair, he startled a little when his fingers made contact with his sticky forehead.

"Slushie, Blaine." Kurt's tone evened out upon seeing Blaine shaken. "Blue, as you so wittily informed us."

Blaine frowned. "I'm sorry, Kurt, you're right- I shouldn't have provoked him."

"Still kinda nice to see him put in his place, though." Sam mumbled, he looked over at Kurt. "You want me to tell Coach Beast about this?"

Kurt shook his head, "No… it'll only piss him off. Let's just forget about it."

The group walked out to the parking lot together, not nearly as happy as they had been. They disbanded with reluctant good byes.

Kurt sent Finn to either Quinn or Rachel's (he didn't bother wedging his way into the awkward love triangle by asking questions) with their car while he road with Blaine. When they climbed into the car, Blaine pulled down his visor to study his blue-stained skin in the mirror. He grimaced. "Really, really not my color."

"I'm sorry you had to experience that at all," Kurt sighed, his previous anger melting into embarrassment that Blaine had witnessed his daily tormenting first hand.

"It's like being fully initiated into the McKinley Glee Club." Blaine offered Kurt a smile.

"Really though, Blaine, what were you hoping to prove?" Kurt sighed as they started down the road in the direction of his house.

Blaine was silent for a long time. "I don't want you to have to live in fear, Kurt. I've been there. I know what that's like…and Karofsky, he's not worth it."

"Oh, and your big bad bullies were?" Kurt snapped.

Blaine's hands momentarily gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as they pulled into the Hummel's empty driveway. "I told you, Kurt. I ran away. You're braver than I am."

"I'm not the one smiling at the guy about to turn my body into a bloody, corn syrup-covered pulp, Blaine. He's going to hold onto that and I don't get to skip on back to Dalton on Monday, in case you've forgotten." Kurt slammed the door to the car as he climbed out.

He punched in the garage code, but once it had fully risen, he was surprised to still hear the hum of Blaine's car engine. He let out a disgusted sigh and pivoted on his heel to stock toward the driver's side window.

Blaine's eyes were on his hands still gripping the steering wheel. Kurt had to wrap his knuckles on the glass to get him to acknowledge his presence. Blaine turned and looked at Kurt through the closed window. His face was a mask of pain and guilt.

Kurt's anger abated slightly. He pulled open Blaine's door and took a step back, folding his arms across his chest. He kept his tone short. "Well, are you just going to sit there?"

Blaine looked surprised, "Am I still invited in?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, and snapped. "Yes."

Blaine slowly climbed out of the car and closed the door, but rather than walk toward the house, he stood awkwardly in place, his right hand rising to rub the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to make things worse for you, Kurt. I didn't even think-"

"That's right, you didn't think." Kurt knew he was being too harsh, but he couldn't stop himself.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt." Blaine's eyes went down to his shoes. "I wanted to make things better- I would never- I mean I did, but I couldn't-"

Blaine's words dissolved into silence.

Kurt regarded him for another moment, and it was his turn to feel remorseful. This was Blaine. Blaine who he loved; Blaine who loved _him_ and wanted nothing more than to make him smile. Though not always well thought through (or thought through at all), every one of Blaine's intentions was good-natured. Kurt closed the space between them in a few steps and reached up a hand to touch Blaine's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Blaine's eyes flitted up to his own, surprised, he opened his mouth to speak, but Kurt shushed him.

"I shouldn't have said those things to you. Any of them. I should know better than to think you would ever do something to hurt me." Kurt smiled ruefully. "Forgive me?"

Blaine's face looked relieved, he used one arm to pull Kurt into a hug. "There's nothing to forgive. Thank you for putting up with, yet another of my less than brilliant plans. I never meant to-"

"Shut up, we're done talking about it." Kurt pulled out of Blaine's embrace. "Come on, you smell like high fructose corn syrup and artificial raspberry, let's get you cleaned up."

Blaine sat on the edge of the sink while Kurt washed his own face, and then good-naturedly, sat in an offered chair with his own head bent back under the running water. Kurt put on his best infomercial voice, explaining how to get the dye out of one's skin. "I have yet to perfect a technique for getting out the sticky spots that go all hard though—you can scrub and scrub, and they just stay sort of sticky for days."

"Oil." Blaine responded, his eyes closed.

"Oil?" Kurt replied dubiously, massaging shampoo through Blaine's hair once more.

"Olive oil." Blaine said confidently. "It takes awhile to get it out afterward, but it gets the job done.

"Bad hair gel experiences lead you to that conclusion?" Kurt smiled, washing away the white bubbles until the hair beneath his hands was clean and dark once again.

"Something like that." Blaine murmured, "I'm surprised you hadn't thought of it for yourself- you're usually so creative with your hair and skin tricks."

"I try to avoid intentionally making my hair greasy, thank you very much." As he smoothed in conditioner to Blaine's thick hair, he consciously avoided the scar, but with Blaine's eyes closed, he was able to scrutinize it without need for subtlety. It was a thin line that dipped away from his hairline only briefly then curved back up to disappear into the dark waves of hair above. He rinsed his hair once more before turning the water off and handing Blaine a towel. He seated himself on the counter and folded one leg over the other as he watched his boyfriend rub the towel over his head vigorously.

When Blaine was satisfied, he draped the towel over one shoulder and raked his fingers through his hair a few times, chattering about marketing slushie-clean up shampoos.

"Can I ask you something, and do you promise you'll be honest?" Kurt finally blurted.

Blaine's eyes moved from the mirror the Kurt. He was waiting.

"Do you really believe Karofsky wouldn't punch me?"

Blaine sighed, his smile fading- a look Kurt was beginning to find too familiar. "It would take a lot… but, for the most part, no, I don't think he would."

"Which is why you kept it so together when he shoved me." Kurt offered. _Take the bait_. He mentally urged.

Blaine looked remorseful yet again. "I know he scared you, and I didn't want him pushing you around, but… I didn't think he was going to hurt you."

He'd bitten down, and- though he felt just a little guilty about it- Kurt was going to reel him in. "So why did you get so upset when his friends grabbed me?"

Blaine looked momentarily surprised; a hand went to his neck. "It… it was…I wasn't going to keep stringing him along when you were involved."

"Blaine, you weren't just a little upset. Something set you off. Karofsky saw it and I saw it." Kurt was not going to just back down. He had seen more than just fury in Blaine's eyes earlier that day. He had seen panic.

Blaine took a step forward, closing both his hands around Kurt's, his eyes on them. "You…you're right."

Kurt felt the need to hold his breath, waiting for more.

"It just—old memories, I guess. It brought some stuff back up to the surface. And that, directed toward you- it was too much." Blaine's eyes finally came back to his. A sad smile playing at his lips, "I told you, you're braver than I am. My pluckiness only stretches so far."

Kurt sighed. "That's it?"

A line of confusion formed between Blaine's eyebrows, but the smile remained. "What else would there be?"

Kurt untangled Blaine's hands from his, and wrapped his arms around the other boy's waist. "I don't know. I never know with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blaine laughed, but he disentangled himself from Kurt's embrace to study his face.

"I feel like you know everything about me- down to my slushie-removal facial routine, and you're just some giant enigma for me to scratch my head over."

"I like to maintain an air of mysteriousness." Blaine winked; he snapped Kurt's knees with his towel once before waltzing out of the bathroom.

"Blaine." Kurt whined, trailing after him.

"Yes, dear?" Blaine stretched himself out across Kurt's bed, his towel abandoned on the floor.

"This is what I'm talking about, you avoid every question I try to ask you." Kurt picked up the towel and dropped it in the laundry hamper before going back to stand at the side of the bed, his hands on his hips.

Blaine rolled from his stomach to his back and stretched an arm out toward Kurt, beckoning him to join him, still smiling.

Kurt sighed and begrudgingly lay down beside his boyfriend, but Blaine was not content to let him play at being irritated. He used an arm to roll Kurt into his side and growled in his ear.

"Not in the mood to play, Blaine." Kurt tried to wriggle out of Blaine's hold.

Blaine held tight and laughed, "All right, I get it. You're mad at me. Come on, ask me something."

Kurt glanced at Blaine to see if he was playing another game. His face looked sincere, but apparently Kurt hadn't reacted fast enough.

"I have one for you, first." Blaine released his hold on Kurt so he could roll back onto his stomach, hugging one of Kurt's pillows beneath his head and chest.

"Fine." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"First guy you had a crush on and when." Blaine demanded with a smile.

Kurt couldn't resist his own smile. "His name was Tyler Marslow. I was nine. He had great shoes."

"Things didn't work out?" Blaine guessed.

Kurt slowly settled himself down on his side, facing Blaine, with his chin propped in one hand. "Not exactly. My love went unvoiced and then he moved to Kentucky."

"Mine was my third grade baseball coach. He was a college student at NYU, home for the summer to make some money." Blaine sighed blissfully.

Kurt snorted. "The ten year age gap didn't bother you too much?"

Blaine's voice remained dreamy. "I knew, even in my youth, that age is just a number…. who was the first guy you actually declared your love to?"

Kurt groaned. "Can we not go there?"

"You witnessed my Gap Attack first hand, you honestly think you've done worse than that?" Blaine blushed.

"True…Oh God, fine, it was Finn." He closed his eyes, mortified to even consider how obsessed he had been.

Blaine choked back a laugh. "Wow, well, probably a good thing that didn't work out then."

"Oh God, let's move past this. Other than Rachel, have you ever been with a girl?"

Blaine looked thoughtful, then smiled almost fondly. "Sort of… she was one of my best friends in middle school, Nadia. She knew I was gay, but we thought we'd test the waters a little anyway- we made out at the movie theater, I went for second and we both got so uncomfortable we couldn't talk for a week."

"Have you ever been with another guy?" Kurt ventured, suddenly awkward.

Blaine shrugged, "I've kissed a few guys I've met at parties, stuff like that…"

"No, I mean…" Kurt felt a blush creep into his face, so he lay his head down on the pillow beside Blaine, hoping to hide his pink cheeks. "I guess, what I'm asking is, well-have you ever- uh- Oh, to hell with it, are you a virgin?"

Blaine's smile faded, he let a long breath out his nose, and he rolled over onto his back, a hand tucked behind his head. "I…I'm not really sure."

"How can you not be sure?" Kurt frowned. He had just embarrassed himself half to death trying to force his question out, and the answer wasn't an answer at all!

Blaine's eyes had a distant quality to them for a moment, before he shook his head, bringing himself back from whatever mental path he'd been traveling down. "Can we stick with sort of?"

"What does that even mean?" Kurt complained.

"Kurt, some things… they're just complicated."

"So explain them to me." Kurt urged.

Blaine used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose briefly. "I'd rather just leave it at sort of."

Kurt sat up, irritated once again, "This is what I'm talking about, Blaine, as soon as I ask you anything personal, you dance around the whole thing."

Blaine sat up too, he pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin atop them. "I'm not trying to avoid you, Kurt. There are just some things I'm not…ready…to explain. I don't even know if I can."

"But when you are ready…" Kurt trailed off.

Blaine dropped a hand down to squeeze Kurt's ankle. "You will be the very first one to know."

"Promise?" It hadn't been the response Kurt had hoped for, but it was a start.

Blaine flinched and grinned. "Ugh, yes, I promise."

Kurt laughed when Blaine suddenly untangled himself to tackle and pin Kurt to the bed, but, even as Blaine's kisses trailed along his face, he couldn't help but feel that that momentary grimace Blaine had given him was far more real than the smile. Kurt let out a soft gasp when Blaine's teeth grazed his jaw line. He had at least gotten the promise of answers and for now he could wait, preferring to focus on Blaine's fingers grazing his side beneath his shirt rather than the reasons for scars and nightmares.

**A/N: not gonna lie, this was an interesting chapter to hash out so i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it *cough*review*cough***


	8. Chapter 8, P 1

A/N: before anyone can get irritated with how short this chapter is, I wanted to give you all the heads up that i decided to break chapter 8 into 2 parts, so I'll upload the other half fairly soon.

Disclaimer: glee= not mine

**Chapter 8**

_I want you_

_I want you so bad_

_It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad_

"I may be into women, but I would tap that without a second thought." Santana leaned over Kurt's shoulder to stare down at the video he had just received from an old classmate at Dalton.

"Do you mind?" Kurt glowered at Santana. The two had study hall together, and- being the last day of school- even the teacher had resigned to staring at the clock, allowing the students to do as they pleased.

"No, and if you do, that's too effin' bad, let me watch." Santana demanded.

Kurt sighed and tipped his phone back up for her to see the Warbler's most recent project. Blaine's usual ability to lay it all out for a song was in rare form for the Beatles number. Kurt should know, he'd already received a private showing of it, so the video of the group practice, compared to the in person performance, wasn't quite as…. steamy.

Santana apparently felt otherwise, she moaned aloud, ignoring the classmates who glanced up from their own conversations to stare at her. "Seriously, I always miss out on the best ones. Just tell me one thing."

Kurt quirked an eyebrow at her, "What?"

"On a scale of one to ten- one being holding Rachel Berry's hand and ten being getting with me- how mind blowingly amazing is the sex?"

Kurt felt his cheeks burn. "Personal, Santana. _Too_ personal."

Santana snapped her gum a few times in irritation and studied Kurt's face. Suddenly her eyes went wide. "Oh my God."

"What?" Kurt checked to make sure his outfit was okay and then touched his hair, not sure what had caused Santana's shock.

She didn't bother following his attention to his clothing; she had her eyes locked on his. "You haven't done it yet!"

More people glanced toward the back of the classroom to stare at them. Kurt tried to act calm under their scrutiny before glowering at Santana. "Shush!"

Santana pried Kurt's phone from his hands and restarted the video, shoving the screen within inches of his face. "I will not shush, you stupid, frigid loser. You are telling me that you have not tapped that YET?"

Kurt tried to snatch his phone back, but the Latina girl would not let him touch it. "Personal, Santana."

"No. This is a crime against humanity." Santana pointed at the phone's front screen. "It is morally wrong to not be getting some of that _at least_ twice a day every day. There is no excuse for that not happening. What's the matter with you?"

"Santana, listen-" before Kurt could even form a sentence, she clamped her free hand over his mouth.

"No, _you_ listen, Harvey Milk," Santana snapped.

Kurt was surprised enough that she even knew the _name_ Harvey Milk to maintain his silence when she let go of his mouth.

"You are being given a summer project. You tap that by next week, or I will. And don't tell me he's gay so he wouldn't be into it. _Everyone_ wants a piece of this and if you don't put out, I will." Santana shoved Kurt's phone back into his hand, shaking her head in disgust. "Seriously, you are so lucky you have me to guide you."

"So very, very lucky." Kurt replied dryly, his eyes drifting up to the clock. Ten minutes and he would be done with McKinley for three wonderful months. With Santana quiet, he was able to let his mind drift.

He and Blaine's relationship had steadily heated up- Blaine's silliness being replaced more and more frequently with bedroom eyes, and low, suggestive murmurings in Kurt's ear. But, Santana was right, they hadn't progressed so far as to…do the deed.

_Good lord, I can't even think the word. _Kurt rolled his eyes at his own prudishness. Maybe Santana was right; maybe he just needed to bite the bullet… the minute hand lurched forward to the twelve, the ringing of the bell was drowned out by a cheer from the class, a sound that could be heard echoing from the other rooms lining the hallway. Kurt allowed himself to be pushed along with the crowd until he emerged in the parking lot, the hot May sun beating down on the top of his head.

"I mean it, princess. Get it done!" Santana shouted in his direction as she made for her car.

Kurt laughed despite himself, too blissful at the notion of freedom to be embarrassed by Santana. Finn had arranged to ride with Puck, so Kurt could make the nearly two-hour drive to Blaine's home in New Albany. Blaine had finished classes the previous week, but with his finals two weeks earlier, and Kurt's own hectic schedule the following week, the two hadn't seen one another in ten days (not that Kurt was counting or anything like that). Euphoric at the notion of being reunited so soon with his boyfriend, Kurt turned on the radio and even cracked the windows (though not enough for the wind to ruin his hair) as he sped down the road. When he got near the exit for Dalton, he felt a light sadness, but he continued on toward his lover's hometown. When he pulled into the driveway, he had to remind himself not to be intimidated by the massive home in front of him. All that mattered was the person inside. Still, he took a moment to stare up at the red bricks, the navy shutters… Blaine's place at Dalton was most definitely well secured; he would never have to fear the funding for tuition running dry. Kurt shook himself from his reverie and strode to the front door. He rang the bell and listened to the barking of Tucker, Blaine's big yellow lab, which secretly scared Kurt a little. He could hear Blaine's voice shouting for Tucker to be quiet as he neared the door.

When the door finally opened, Blaine was half bent over, trying to shove the big dog backwards. "God, Tuck, chill- Kurt!"

Blaine gave up on the dog, letting him bolt out the door and into the yard, preferring to hug his boyfriend close. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you at school?"

"I wanted to surprise you- I may have told a little white lie about the fact that we had early release today." Kurt smiled, pleased with himself. He looked over Blaine- his jeans were grass-stained at the bottom, and his white t-shirt was damp with sweat. "What have you been up to all week without me?"

Blaine nodded his head toward the lawn where Tucker was currently lounging. "Mowed the lawn, counted the hours until I thought you'd be done with school, wowed the world with my musical talents, solved world hunger, cured cancer; the usual… so, if you're done for the day, does that mean it's officially summer?"

Kurt gathered a handful of Blaine's white t-shirt and pulled him into a kiss. "It is officially summer."

Blaine's mouth curved into a lascivious smirk and his hands ran a path up and down Kurt's sides. "All mine for three months. What to do, what to do?"

"I'm sure we can come up with a few things." Kurt purred back. With the fistful of Blaine's shirt he still held, he pressed the other boy backward through the front door. "Your parents home?"

"Dad's on a golf weekend with clients; Mama left for a spa retreat with her book club. It's just me here all by myself until Monday." Blaine kissed his way from Kurt's mouth toward his ear; his fingers toyed with the hem of his Alexander McQueen t-shirt.

"How lonely for you. I guess I'll just have to keep you company." Kurt murmured back, lifting his chin when Blaine's kisses trailed toward his neck. He could smell Blaine's damp hair as it rubbed against his jaw—fresh grass and hot sun. His phone vibrated in his back pocket.

Blaine shifted a hand from the bottom of Kurt's shirt to his pocket and retrieved the device as it beeped again in an irritating reminder to Kurt not to ignore it, "Santana texted you. She says 'tick tock'. What's that mean?"

Kurt took the phone from Blaine's hand as casually as possible and tucked it back into his pocket. "My oh my, aren't we nosey."

"Sorry." Blaine murmured, Kurt could feel his mouth curve into a smile from its place still trailing kisses over his neck, his hands brushing the small of Kurt's back below his shirt. "So what's it mean?"

"…like the Kesha song." Kurt murmured, his thoughts going fuzzy with Blaine's fingers tracing the top of his jeans.

"Mmm." Blaine's mouth came back to meet his own, nipping lightly at his lower lip before murmuring, "I need to shower."

Santana's text seemed to burn Kurt's skin. Maybe there really was no excuse for not pushing things further, and she was right- who wouldn't want to with someone as sinfully delicious as Blaine? "Mind if I join you?"

Blaine looked surprised for a moment, but then that slow, fervid grin slid back into place. "I'd like that."

Kurt felt a rush of adrenaline laced with pride in his own forwardness, and anxiety over his naïveté. Blaine pulled him up the stairs toward the bathroom, pausing occasionally to suddenly pin Kurt against the wall and steal a fervent kiss. Blaine's fingers slid from Kurt's when he bent over to twist the knob of the shower-giving Kurt a few seconds to panic that he has no idea what the _hell_ he was doing. But when Blaine turned back around, his chin angled down, his eyes lustful, Kurt forgot his fears. He had no sooner closed the space between them than Blaine had pulled Kurt's shirt off with lightning speed. Kurt did not care that the designer fabric was in a pile somewhere on the floor, he did not care that he would have none of his skin care or hair products to put himself back together, he did not care that his body moved from some instinctive place he didn't know he owned. All he cared about was skin touching skin and the hot steam that curled around him as he stumbled backward into the shower.

_I want you_

_I want you so bad_

_It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad_

**A/N: a huge shout out to the Beatles for the song that inspired this little chapter. also, keep your eyes peeled for part 2 of this chapter coming either a little later tonight or early tomorrow :)**


	9. Chapter 8, Pt 2

A/N: Okay, I can't help myself and I'm uploading chapter 8 pt. 2 a bit earlier than promised; it's a whole lot lengthier than part 1; enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Glee doesn't belong to me

* * *

**Chapter 8, Pt. 2**

So this was perfection.

Kurt lay in bed in the giant New Albany house, his eyes dreamily cast toward the partially opened bathroom door where the beds owner had momentarily disappeared. Blaine came to lean in the bathroom doorway, a toothbrush raised to his mouth in one hand, the other loosely holding a towel in place around his waist. He disappeared again, leaving Kurt to listen to water running in the sink, the sound of a few drawers being opened and closed, and finally he was back. Kurt welcomed the body that slid in under the cool sheets; he pressed his face close to the chest- soothed by the familiar smell. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to smell Crew body wash again without feeling his body temperature rise a few degrees.

Blaine remained mute- no words of wisdom, quick-witted jokes, or carefully constructed compliments- he was content, for once, to remain absolutely silent with one arm looped around the back of his lover, and his eyes on the lazy rotations of the ceiling fan.

Kurt turned his head to kiss the notch above Blaine's sternum, loving the little contour he swore had been created for just such little pecks of intimacy.

Blaine's hand slid up his back slowly, his fingers moving over each vertebrae of his spine, mindless and tranquil.

Kurt had rarely seen Blaine anything but chipper, his disposition most always leaning toward the sunnier end of the spectrum, but something about his mood in that moment seemed so much more…_serene_ than he'd ever seen him. "You seem happy."

"I am," Blaine's mouth touched Kurt's still-damp hair. "More happy than I've been in a long time."

Kurt smiled, basking in Blaine's peacefulness.

"Are you?"

Kurt pulled himself up further on the bed, letting his head come to rest on the pillow beside Blaine's. "Happier than I have ever been."

Blaine smiled and kissed him softly. "Setting the bar a little high for the next three months to measure up to."

"As always, I'm sure you'll find a way to outdo yourself."

"But all I want to do is lay here forever." Blaine protested with a smile.

Kurt leaned over and kissed him again, "Well that's too bad, because it's positively beautiful outside."

"I got all the beauty I need in here." Blaine winked up at Kurt.

"Charming, but not going to cut it." Kurt replied. He had never been content to sleep in, and, even with Blaine beside him, he could feel a familiar restlessness stirring in his limbs. He slid to the edge of the bed and pulled his jeans on and then ventured to the bathroom to search for his shirt. He cringed when he lifted the crumpled thing from the floor. He held it between two fingertips, stretched away from his body, as he re-entered the bedroom where Blaine had remained splayed on the bed, his eyes following Kurt.

"My fashion sense might not be as up to speed as yours, but you're welcome to look." Blaine motioned a hand toward his closet on the other side of the room. "Or you could forget about the shirt and come back to bed."

Kurt dropped the wrinkled shirt down on Blaine's face as he passed him on the way to the closet. He stared into the space, his hands resting on his hips. He'd once organized the space for Blaine by sleeve length and color- a simple system, in his opinion- but Blaine had apparently not felt the same way- whites mixed with reds and blacks and long sleeves stuck out from between short sleeves. Kurt glanced over his shoulder to give the boy in bed a withering look.

Blaine smiled back, Kurt's shirt held between both hands against his chest.

Kurt turned his attention back to the closet and he began sifting through hangers. Blaine's style was far from flamboyant, but his taste wasn't that bad. Kurt settled on a white Lacoste polo. He pulled it over his head and turned his attention back to Blaine. "Now what to do about you…"

Blaine pulled the sheets over his head in response.

Kurt ignored him and turned his attention back to selecting a shirt. He pulled out an army green Diesel t-shirt. Perfect. He strode over to the bed and straddled Blaine's lap.

Blaine pulled the sheets down from his face. "Change your mind about coming back to bed?"

"Sit." Kurt demanded.

Blaine raised an eyebrow at Kurt's tone, but sat up all the same.

"Arms up."

"You're very cute when you try to be authoritative." Blaine grinned but obediently raised his hand above his head.

Kurt pulled the shirt down over his head and kissed him soundly on the mouth. "Thank you."

Blaine tipped Kurt onto his back, so that he was now the one on top. "Thank _you." _

Kurt gave into Blaine's kisses until he felt his hand coaxing his shirt up. He wormed his way out from under the other boy and laughed. "Nice try, buddy. You are not winning this one."

Blaine pouted momentarily before suddenly springing to his feet. "Fine then, out we go."

Kurt followed, hiding behind him a little when the dog was allowed back through the door; its paws immediately went up to Blaine's chest.

Blaine rubbed behind Tucker's ears affectionately, not bothering to force him down. "What do you want to do?"

"Lets go for a walk." Kurt crept out from behind Blaine once the dog bounded off toward the laundry room to get a drink from its bowl. "I never get to see any of New Albany."

Blaine locked the door behind them and they started out down the path in front of the house. "There's a park close by. Wanna go there?"

"That would be lovely." Kurt slipped a hand into Blaine's as they strode out of the neighborhood.

Blaine chatted amicably. Telling Kurt about catching turtles from the pond in the park, dragging the little things home in his wagon, and then having to turn right back around and take them back when his mother saw them. He mentioned falling off his bike nearly a mile into the park and crying the whole time he walked home, dragging his bike, because he was scared he wouldn't be able to make it all the way back with his bloodied knees.

Blaine had kept his promise from earlier that spring- consciously dropping little pieces of himself into conversations to appease Kurt's curiosity. He paused to listen to Kurt tell a similar bike riding horror story (his involved tears over the loss of one of the streamers from his bike handle), his eyes drifting toward the tree tops overhead, casting shaded green light down over them. He had forgotten how much he used to love the park. As they continued on, the trees thinned once again, and an empty children's playground and a vacant baseball diamond were visible some fifty yards ahead.

"Did you play here when you were little?" Kurt prompted.

Blaine nodded; despite its increasingly low position in the sky, the sun beat down hotter on his hair as they left the shade of the trees. "All our park and rec practices were here- my dad shoved me into everything; baseball, soccer, football-"

Football. How could he have forgotten? He stopped his tracks and turned his head instinctively left. His stomach dropped. "Kurt, let's go back."

"What? Why?" Kurt whined. "I want to see the pond!"

"Not today." Blaine's eyes remained fixated as he tried to tug Kurt back to the safe covering of trees.

"Blaine, come on, I-" Kurt followed Blaine's gaze to a group of four boys throwing a football back and forth not thirty feet from them in the short-clipped grass. "Do you know them? Who are they?"

"Kurt. Not now." Blaine tried again, unsuccessfully, to pull Kurt back the way they had come.

Kurt studied the four males in the grass before studying the anxiety on Blaine's face. "They're the ones who bullied you. At your old school."

Blaine's eyes never left the group. "Yes. Please, Kurt."

Kurt made a decision, "No."

Blaine tore his eyes from the field to look at Kurt with alarm.

"You've made me face my demons, now I'm making you face yours. We don't have to say anything to them, let's just keep going."

Blaine looked at him like he thought perhaps Kurt had lost his mind.

Kurt squeezed his hand. "You said you regretted running. Courage, Blaine. Just a little courage; please?"

Blaine hesitated then nodded reluctantly.

Kurt gave him a gentle tug and they continued down the line of asphalt. Blaine's eyes fixated somewhere beyond the playground where more trees covered the path with soft shadows.

As they passed directly by the little group, the chatter between the larger boys stopped, as did the sound of the football being tossed. Kurt felt Blaine's grip tighten and he squeezed back, but continued forward the whole time. They were five feet past them, seven feet, ten feet-

"Well, well, well." A voice sounded off.

Blaine seemed to startle, his feet suddenly unsure of themselves. Kurt tried to steady him to avoid a break in their stride.

"Slow up there, kids, where you off to in such a hurry?" The voice was closer.

Kurt slowed his pace. There would be a confrontation after all. He worked together all his nerves. Blaine had had a slushie dumped over his head by Kurt's current bully, the least he could do in return was stand tall in front of Blaine's old harassers.

Blaine's hand released his, but he stood still beside Kurt. Kurt murmured to him as the four approached. "Brave, Blaine. Be brave."

Kurt studied the boys. One shaved head, one big ugly ginger, one smaller boy, and one mildly attractive jock with a neck thicker than Kurt's thigh. So clichéd. Kurt was surprised though when he realized it was the smallest of the four doing all the talking.

"Blaine Anderson? Is that really you?" The guy looked puzzled, circling both he and Kurt once. He took a step back to murmur something to the red head.

"I think it's him." Chimed the largest man. He took a few steps toward Blaine, reached out a hand and lifted Blaine's chin to tip his face up. He chuckled. "Yeah, it's him all right. Not used to that sweet face when it's not looking up though."

The smaller boy clapped his hands together, smiling. "Blaine! Why didn't you tell us it was you sooner?"

Blaine's mouth remained clamped tightly shut. His eyes unreadable.

The smile slipped. "You really are being very rude, Blaine-y. How long has it been? Two years and not even a nice hello?"

Blaine remained stoic.

The cute-ish one spoke up. "Who's your little friend, Blaine?"

All four turned their attention toward Kurt.

Kurt fought back momentary terror. He straightened up, and appraised the boys before him, he kept his voice cool, indifferent. "Kurt Hummel."

"It's so nice to meet you, Kurt." The boy, only a couple inches taller than he and Blaine, motioned a hand to each of his three accomplices in turn. "This is Mikey, Chris, and Max. And I'm Eric. Eric Marlow."

"Pleasure." Kurt quipped.

The boy, Eric, turned his attention back to Blaine. "Your friend knows how to be pleasant, Blaine. Why can't you be? You used to play so nice with us."

Blaine's mouth twitched a little, but he remained mute.

"Fine, I'll just talk to Kurt if you're going to be like that." Eric shrugged and with the wave of his hand, all four took a few steps closer to Kurt.

"Leave him out of this." Blaine's voice finally broke free- sounding oddly strangled.

"Oh, now you want to chat? I'm so glad." Eric smiled confidingly toward Kurt. "He was always so stubborn. Is he still like that?"

"On occasion." Kurt quipped.

Eric circled around Blaine again, stopping to stand behind him. "But once he decides to be a good sport, everything goes just swimmingly. Right, buddy?"

Blaine had lapsed back into silence, his eyes focused straight ahead.

"You're not being much fun at all, Blaine." The red head (Kurt decided this was Max) complained.

"He's right, Blaine. You're hurting my feelings." Eric looped both hands around Blaine's waist, dropping his chin onto his shoulder. "I hate it when you're mean like this. You _know _how much I hate it. And I'm shocked you never mentioned me to your new friend, Kurt, over here. After all of our history together, you would think I would deserve a mention to the man you love. He is the man you love, isn't he?"

The muscles of Blaine's jaw noticeably tensed, his eyes darting sideways toward Eric.

Eric laughed, tapping a finger against Blaine's temple. "Of course he is; you don't even to need to say it. I always know what's going on in this head of yours, don't I?"

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, boys, but we really should be going." Kurt had had enough, and the look in Blaine's eyes shook something deep within him. He had to get Blaine out of here, away from them.

"Come on, Kurt, don't be a party pooper." Chris, no longer seeming so cute, frowned at Kurt, "Blaine-y and us go way back, and we're just getting caught up."

"It's true you know; we miss you, Blaine." Eric lifted a hand to turn Blaine's head so their faces were nearly touching. "Do you miss _us_?"

"Everyday." Blaine's voice was flat and he glared back at Eric. Kurt felt a strange sense of relief at seeing a reaction.

Eric laughed, patting Blaine on the cheek. "I thought so. You know I'd forgotten what a handsome young man you were, B."

Blaine's eyes left Eric's to check on the location of the other three. They stood idly by, watching the confrontation with amusement. Max caught his eye and grinned, nodding his agreement with Eric. "Not much of a smiler, but still a pretty little face."

"It really is too bad you don't smile more, B. You're going to get frown lines." Chris added.

"Boys, boys." Eric frowned at the other three, "Be nice to him, he's just a little on the serious side. Besides, you said yourself, Max, that he's still a looker. Especially with all that pretty hair."

Kurt wanted to intervene, but he felt like he was in a dream where he could only stand and stare as things unfolded. And what was he supposed to say? 'Stop talking about how cute my boyfriend is in that tone?' He watched Blaine's face instead- it remained somewhere between vacant and panicked.

"Yes, all of those curls." Eric straightened up; one hand moved up to Blaine's forehead, his fingers brushing into his hair. Kurt watched as Eric's fingers rubbed along the spot Kurt had so carefully avoided for months.

Blaine finally reacted. He jerked away from the boy behind him, but it was as though the others had been waiting for this moment. Max and Chris moved in, clamping their arms around Blaine's.

"Hey!" Kurt took a step forward, not really sure what he was going to do, but knowing it was time to react.

"Shh, no reason to get upset." Eric's smile was blithe, reassuring. He turned his gaze back to Blaine who was wriggling beneath the hold of the bigger boys. "Blaine, the same goes for you. Settle down."

Blaine's eyes went up to Eric. Hateful. "Eric, God dammit-"

Eric let out a laugh. "Such naughty language from such a pristine little boy!"

Blaine tried again, unsuccessfully, to pull himself free. The look of resentment in his eyes slipped into terror as Eric approached him.

Eric's hand moved back to its previous place in Blaine's hair. He brushed it aside and studied the pink line there, parting Blaine's hair just a little further back to view the whole thing. "You know I really am sorry that had to happen."

Blaine had stilled beneath the touch, his face pale.

"Marring such a perfect face. Such a shame, but it was _really_ your own fault." Eric smiled. "You know, you could look at it as a positive, Blaine-y Boy."

Blaine's eyes met his briefly, but terror had silenced him once more.

Eric studied the scar again; "Think of it as my own personal brand, all for you. A little souvenir to remember your old friends in New Albany by."

"Fuck you." The words fell from Kurt's mouth on their own accord.

Max, Chris, and Mikey all looked at him in alarm. Eric's eyes remained on Blaine's face. He smiled and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Blaine's forehead before smoothing the hair back into place. He turned slowly to regard Kurt.

"My oh my, now I see where Blaine's potty mouth has come from." Eric chuckled, looking Kurt over.

"Enough." Kurt used all his energy to keep any waver out of his voice. He looked past Eric to Blaine who was watching him with horror. "Please. _Enough_."

Eric looked around at the other three before walking toward Kurt. He circled him, looking him over, smiling, then pivoted around and circled him the other direction. He reached out a hand toward Kurt's face.

Kurt smacked it away and glowered.

Eric raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't very nice."

"Let him go." Kurt demanded, hoping only he had noticed the tightness in his voice.

Eric's eyes remained on Kurt, but he called back to the other two behind him. "You heard the man."

Without hesitation, Chris and Max released their hold, Blaine stumbled a step away from them immediately. It was only then that Kurt felt a rush of fear. All four were moving in his direction. He stumbled back a few paces, nearly falling over a crack in the pavement.

"Don't you dare fucking touch him." Suddenly Blaine was right in front of him. Kurt couldn't see his face, but he could hear the fury in his tone.

Eric looked surprised for a moment and then he let out a loud laugh. "Well just look at you, Blaine! Defending the one you love, how sweet."

"Daddy, I want to swing!" A small voice rang out from down the path. Kurt twisted around and had never been so happy to see a child. Her blonde waves bouncing as she scuttled down the path ahead of a man and his wife pushing a stroller.

The child glanced up at the pack of boys only briefly as she deviated from the path, making a beeline for the playground.

"Hello, boys; nice night." The woman smiled at them as she approached, oblivious to the situation.

"Beautiful evening." Agreed Eric with a smile.

The husband seemed a little more in tune to the situation. He glanced at Blaine, tensed between Kurt and the pack of larger boys, and then at Eric. "Problem, fellas?"

Eric looked confused, tucking his hands in his pockets. "No, sir, just catching up with an old friend; throwing the football around; all that good stuff."

"Headed out soon." Mikey hitched a thumb in the direction toward the playground.

"Probably a good idea; there' s a little league kick-off practice starting soon. They'll need the space." The man glanced again toward Kurt and Blaine.

"We'll be shoving off then." Eric nodded to the others to follow him down the pathway. "Nice to see you, Blaine!"

The man nodded toward Blaine and Kurt before moving toward the playground where his wife, child, and baby waited.

Blaine turned on his heel and started walking with such deliberant speed Kurt nearly had to jog to keep up with him.

"Blaine," Kurt gasped- he hadn't realized he had been holding his breath, "Blaine, slow down and talk to me."

"Home." Blaine stated flatly, not breaking his stride.

"Blaine, please-" Kurt tried to make himself visible to his boyfriend, jogging in and out of his peripherals, but Blaine's eyes remained focused steadily ahead until the trees once again became more sparse and the twinkle of house lights could be seen breaking the dusk.

As they passed the park entrance, it was like whatever had been pulling Blaine along by some invisible towrope seemed to let go. His toes caught on cracks and bumps that weren't there, he weaved one way and then the other, the fingers of his left hand continuously lifted and dropped from his forehead, but his eyes remained forward. Finally, with his pace so broken, Kurt was able to dash in front of the other boy. He twisted around and grabbed Blaine by the elbows, forcing him to stop moving. Blaine blinked at him a few times; he seemed lost.

"Blaine, hey; look at me." Kurt tried to get Blaine to meet his eyes. "I want to help you. What do you need?"

Kurt could see the paleness of the other boy's face even in the increasing darkness. "I need to throw up."

"Wha-" Before he could finish, Blaine had jerked from Kurt's hold.

He stumbled a few steps into a yard with a FOR SALE sign posted in it. He doubled over, gagging and heaving into the grass.

"Jesus." Kurt murmured, hurrying to the other boy's side. When he placed a hand on his back, Blaine startled, stumbling again.

Kurt held up both hands, "Blaine, it's me, only me."

Blaine's breathing was shallow; the outline of his shoulders shuddered visibly. He stared at Kurt for a moment before nodding slowly.

Kurt took a tentative step toward the other boy. When Blaine showed no indication that he was again going to bolt (or vomit), Kurt reached a hand out to his elbow. "Come on, let's get you home."

Blaine walked slowly, but his feet were less clumsy. Kurt kept one hand just above his forearm, wary of the possibility that his counterpart might suddenly fall. When Kurt could see the outline of his Navigator in the driveway he felt a rush of relief. Blaine seemed to take heart in the sight of home as well, for his pace increased just a little as they turned up the driveway. Once inside, he slumped against the banister of the stairs as though his weight were suddenly too much for him to hold upright on his own.

Kurt turned on the entryway light and locked the door behind them. He flinched when Tucker came bounding in, barking at their homecoming. Blaine's hand went down to the dog, but he did not chatter affectionately at it or scratch behind his ears as he usually did. His hand rested quietly on top of the dog's head. Tucker whined, nudging Blaine's palm with his nose.

Blaine's eyes drifted down to the Lab when it licked at his fingers. "Hungry, boy?"

The dog fell into a play position, barked and jumped back up.

Blaine nodded slowly before trying to straighten himself up. He wavered slightly on his feet.

Kurt caught hold of Blaine's arm gently. "I'll feed the dog. Come sit down."

Blaine didn't argue, he let Kurt lead him into the kitchen where he sank into the kitchen chair he pulled out in silence. Kurt filled a glass with water from the sink and brought it to Blaine. "Rinse your mouth out. I'll be right back."

Kurt searched for the bag of dog food in the laundry room closet. When he questioned Tucker about its location, the dog only nudged his bowl across the floor until it banged against his ankles. After some rummaging under abandoned winter jackets, Kurt was able to retrieve the bag. He rolled his eyes when the dog stuck its face under the flow of food as he dumped it into the bowl. He left Tucker to eat contentedly so he could attend to the other male who needed his attention. When he returned to the kitchen, the glass of water was sitting next to the sink, empty, but Blaine was nowhere in sight.

Kurt moved from room to room, cursing the size of the house, "Blaine?"

The only sound he could hear was Tucker noisily eating a few rooms away, but when he entered the family room he found the sliding glass door ajar. He slipped out onto the deck and felt a little relieved to see Blaine's back to him.

"I didn't know where you'd run off to." Kurt took a tentative step toward the dark haired boy in front of him.

"Fresh air." Blaine murmured. His arms were hugged around his middle, his head tipped up toward the dark night sky.

Kurt came to stand beside him; he tipped his head to gaze upward too. Thousands of little white stars stared back at him. "I know I promised to wait until you were ready to talk about things, Blaine. But I think this is one of those times where you need to tell me something."

Blaine didn't respond, his eyes moved slowly, as though studying some invisible movement above them.

Kurt suddenly felt tears stinging his eyes. He tried to bite them back, but he was frightened. Blaine was happy; Blaine was silly and brave and sexy and witty and strong. Kurt _knew_ Blaine. This person beside him- this frightened, lost, timid little boy with wild eyes- he didn't recognize him. He choked on a barely suppressed sob.

Blaine blinked, his eyes finally moving to Kurt at the sound, his arms dropped to his sides and his voice came out in a murmur. "Tell you something…"

"Just try, Blaine, please. Anything." Kurt's throat felt strangled with the effort to hold back his hysteria.

Blaine's hand lifted up toward his face, but, as though becoming aware of the gesture for the first time, he dropped it back down before it could reach its destination. His eyes drifted back up to the sky. "Did you like stars when you were a kid?"

Kurt glanced at the sky and then back to Blaine, "…w-what?"

Blaine didn't seem to mind that Kurt hadn't answered the question. "I loved them. I had a big book of all the constellations with the stories to go with them. It glowed in the dark."

Kurt waited in confused silence for Blaine to say more.

"I used to try to count them. As many as I could…" He paused, his eyes momentarily scanning the patch of navy above him. "The first time Max ever beat me up, I was nine. My mom cried for hours. She knew what I was I think way before I did, and she knew that's why he did it. Broke her heart. I couldn't let it happen again."

Kurt flinched, remembering his own father's face when he'd received the anonymous phone call in the shop the year before.

"…I was never a very big kid though, so I wasn't very good at holding him off…and when we got older Chris and Mikey joined in on it… I used to lie to my mom, call her from the gas station to tell her I was hanging out at a friend's house and that I would bike home later. I'd sneak in during the news so she wouldn't see me."

Another pause. Kurt hugged his arms around his chest when a cool breeze ruffled his shirt.

"Sometime I had a lot of time to kill just sitting outside, so I'd find all the constellations I could… not that many interesting ones floating over Ohio though." Blaine's eyes drifted, Kurt assumed, over a few of the aforementioned shapes, "…so I started counting stars. It turned into a comfort thing over the years."

Kurt didn't know what to say, not entirely sure of what Blaine was telling him. "How many did you count?"

"It depended on the night…" Blaine's voice was far off, but more his own.

"What's your record?" Kurt turned his eyes back up to the sky, hoping to see whatever secrets Blaine did hidden up there.

"I'm not sure… it never matters how many, just that they're there to count… It's been so long, I'd almost forgotten."

"I'm so sorry, Blaine." Kurt's voice choked and he felt the hot sensation of saline rolling down his cheek. "I shouldn't have made you confront them. I didn't know…"

When the older boy looked back to Kurt, it only made the tears come faster. The eyes were tired, but free from their previous blackened terror. He _knew_ the eyes on him. This was Blaine.

"It's not your fault." Blaine reached out and pulled Kurt to his chest.

The sobs wouldn't stop now. They shook his body. "You t-told me, and I wouldn't listen- and then I just stood there while they tormented you-"

"Shh," Blaine's arms squeezed tighter. "How were you supposed to know I'd fall to pieces, huh? This was my fault, I couldn't confront my demons the way you did I'm just not… strong enough. Come here."

Kurt allowed Blaine to pull him down into the bench swing behind them. When he sank down into the cool cushions, Blaine settled down beside him, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze and used one foot to rock them slowly. Why was he, Kurt, always the one who needed comforting? "You _were_ brave, though. You stepped in for me when you thought I needed it. _Again_."

"I stepped in because they are _my_ problem, not yours."

"But Karofsky is an issue for both of us?" Kurt retorted.

"David and Eric are not the same." Blaine's voice went flat, his fingers once again brushed at his forehead absently. A new mannerism for Kurt to file away with the rest.

"Why not?" Kurt's voice went soft.

Blaine shook his head. "Just… trust me on this one, Kurt."

"I do trust you, Blaine, but I think I deserve to know things about you."

Blaine let out an exasperated sigh, "We've been through this, Kurt. I try- I've told you what I can, when I can."

"Telling me about counting freaking stars does not count as telling me jack shit! You _know_ you haven't actually told me anything and you lied to me, Blaine! You flat out lied!" Kurt hadn't meant to raise his voice, but it came out in a near shout nonetheless.

Blaine flinched, "Fine… The scar. You want to know the truth about the scar."

Kurt held his breath, but ended up having to release it.

Blaine had fallen mute again; his expression conflicted.

Kurt reached out a hand to Blaine's. His palm was sweaty. "I don't need to know it all right now. Just…give me something."

"Eric, he..." Blaine had to let out a long shaky breath and start again. "It was my freshman year. They…he forged a letter from the soccer coach saying I should meet him in the boys' locker room after school to discuss me potentially playing that season."

"What happened?" Kurt coaxed him in a soft voice when he faltered again.

"…I went, but there was no one was around. I knew something wasn't right, but before I could leave, they were there." Blaine's eyes were vacant as he spoke; his voice trembled. "It was the worst they'd ever done to me…smashed my head against the wall and it knocked me a little silly I guess… I was so confused when I could feel them hitting me, I had seen stars- I thought it was over…"

"Blaine…" Kurt's chest ached for the torment behind those eyes. He tucked an arm behind Blaine's shoulders. When his body slumped against Kurt's, exhausted, Kurt remembered the night on his own family room couch. The parallel was almost eerie, but something felt different about holding Blaine that summer night from the way it had earlier that spring. For once, Kurt reached without inhibition to Blaine's head to trace the raised line of skin gently. Blaine remained still against his side.

Maybe it was just the tension in his arm against Kurt's side, or maybe it was the electrical current that connects two souls at a deeper level, but either way Kurt was sure now. Something was still going unsaid. "Blaine…"

Blaine could hear the whispering too, the unspoken sound of his lover's soul suspicious of his own. "I'm tired, Kurt."

Kurt considered arguing, but he felt the sincerity of Blaine's words. He was tired too. He pressed a kiss to Blaine's temple. "I know."

The two remained on the bench, their eyes directed to the sky until the navy turned lavender, then green, then orange.

It was a new day.

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed pt. 2 and Blaine finally putting some things out into the open; let me know what you think!**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Read, review; enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee**

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**Chapter 9**

"Pancakes."

"Come again?" Kurt yawned.

"Let's make pancakes." Blaine was suddenly on his feet, rolling his shoulders and jogging a little in place to get the blood flowing properly in his feet.

"Since when are you a morning person?" Kurt asked, suspicious of Blaine suddenly being so… Blaine. And at seven AM no less.

"Not hard to be a morning person when you don't sleep." Blaine winked and offered a hand to pull the other boy to his feet.

Kurt pressed his thumbs into the small of his back, grimacing at the sound of vertebrae clicking back into place. "Speak for yourself."

"A little coffee will wake you up." Blaine was already moving toward the door into the house. "And pancakes. Pancakes are lifesavers."

"No, pancakes are what will make people mistake me for the Pillsbury Dough Boy if we ever decide to go to the beach." Kurt trailed after Blaine.

"Hush, they will not. They're good for the soul." Blaine scratched Tucker behind the ear when he appeared at his side. "Right, boy, right?"

"And bad for my hips." Kurt sat down at the kitchen table heavily.

Blaine put his hands on his knees and grinned at Tucker. "Tell Kurt that if he were any smaller he'd look like one of those creepy runway models."

Tucker waged his tail and licked Blaine across the face, exulting in receiving attention once more from his best friend.

Kurt gave up arguing, he resigned himself to starting a pot of coffee and studying Blaine as he danced around the kitchen pulling out bowls and pans, Tucker constantly at his heels. Other than some dark circles below his eyes, he seemed… fine.

Kurt returned to the table, placed one coffee mug in the seat across from him and holding another between both hands for himself as he settled back into his chair. Blaine grinned at him from where he stood in front of the stove. "Did you know I was a culinary wizard?"

"I wasn't aware of that particular aspect of your resume, no." Kurt smiled back.

Blaine flipped a pancake before pointing his spatula toward Kurt. "A breakfast bon vivant. Tucker loves my food, don't you boy?"

Kurt smiled despite himself. "And Tucker's palate is so refined too; impressive, Mr. Anderson."

"You just wait and see." Blaine waltzed over to the table and dropped down a bottle of syrup before returning with a plate of pancakes.

Kurt made a face at him as the darker haired boy put two on a plate (with a little less syrup than he himself preferred, thank God) and shoved it toward Kurt.

"Blaine." Kurt whined.

Kurt had expected Blaine to move immediately into his pout mode. Instead, he cut a neat triangle shaped section from the golden disks, stabbed into it with his fork and held it in front of him. "Did your mother do here comes the choo choo train, or do you prefer the airplane?"

Kurt looked at Blaine cynically.

Blaine kept the fork poised. "Cars, then? I can do all three."

"Blaine, I-"

Blaine shoved the fork into Kurt's mouth. "Ha!"

Kurt had no choice but to swallow down the syrupy sweetness. He groaned. "Blaine, we do not all have alarmingly fast metabolisms that allow us to eat ten thousand pancakes everyday."

Blaine was chewing on a bite from his own plate, looking thoughtful. A smile crept across his face as he looked back to Kurt. "You do have a point."

Kurt nodded primly, but knew better than to believe Blaine would simply concede defeat.

"I have a proposition for you then, Mr. Hummel." Blaine was tracing a pinkie through the syrup on his plate.

"Go on…" Kurt sat back in his chair, waiting.

"First we eat our pancakes," Blaine continued to trace his finger around the edge of his plate.

Kurt was about to scoff, but then Blaine lifted his finger to his mouth and sucked it clean.

"And then we engage in a little cardio and get ready for the day." Blaine finished, his mouth curving into a suggestive smirk.

Kurt lifted his fork and took a bite from his own plate. "Or we could kill two birds with one stone and do our cardio while we get ready…"

Blaine grinned as he swallowed down another bite. "Multi-tasking. I like it."

"Then you're gonna love me." Kurt winked. He was getting better at this whole seductive thing. But not as good as his counterpart.

Blaine pushed his plate aside, crawled across the table and pressed his mouth to Kurt's- his mouth cloyingly sweet against Kurt's own. "I'm full."

"Shower?" Kurt asked breathlessly.

"Shower."

* * *

Almost as soon as they had climbed back into Blaine's bed, hair still dripping, Kurt fell asleep. When he awoke, he registered sunlight flowing into the room- warm on his face and creating a pink glow behind his still closed eyes. He stretched an arm out to pull his lover in closer, but his hand was met with…fur. He opened his eyes slowly to stare. There was another male in bed with him, but it was not Blaine. Tucker's head rested only inches from his. His tail made a dull thumping sound on the bed as he stared back at Kurt.

"You're not really my type." Kurt said flatly.

The dog's tail wagged faster and he licked Kurt across the face.

Kurt sat up, scrubbing at the slobber with his forearm. "You and the guy I do like have a lot in common though."

Tucker jumped down from the bed, but waited in the doorway for Kurt to follow after him before bounding down the stairs. Kurt glanced in the kitchen. The plates were gone from the table and the flour wiped from the counter, but no Blaine. He moved on to the family room, the deck, the dining room, but all were empty.

"Blaine?" Kurt called. Tucker barked at the sound of his favorite person's name.

"Shush." Kurt glared at the dog and strained to listen. Nothing.

Tucker ran to the door leading to the garage and pawed at it intently, whining. Kurt turned the knob and let the dog out, but before he could close it behind him he caught sight of a ladder, its top disappearing into an open trapdoor above.

He peered up the ladder into the space above. "Blaine?"

After a momentary shuffling, Blaine's face peered back down at his. "Good, you're awake. Can you help me with something quick?"

Before he could respond, Blaine's face disappeared again back into the space. He was back a moment later, lowering a cardboard box down in front of him. Kurt caught the bottom of it before letting it drop to the floor. Its top had Blaine's name printed across it in bold, markered letters.

Blaine descended down the ladder a moment later; he smiled at Kurt. "Summer clothes."

"Ah." Kurt lifted the box and waited by the door while Blaine put away the ladder.

They sat on the floor of the family room while Blaine rifled through the contents of the box, apparently displeased with the majority of the things inside. "Do you ever look at something and just have to wonder 'what the hell was I thinking?'"

"When it comes to clothes?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Never."

Blaine shook his head and grinned. "Stupid question."

Kurt unfolded a maroon colored t-shirt and sighed. "Your taste isn't bad, it's just so… generic. Fashion requires boldness."

Blaine peered down into the box and suddenly grinned. He pulled out a pair of hot pink sunglasses and put them on, tilting his head from side to side for Kurt.

"Those are definitely bold." Kurt smiled. "But a little on the tacky side."

"They are not!" Blaine pouted, he hooked them onto the edge of his t-shirt before shoving everything else back into the box. He crossed out his name on the top and relabeled it 'Goodwill'.

"Well, that was a waste of time." Kurt sighed.

"Not entirely." Blaine waved the sunglasses in front of Kurt like a trophy.

Kurt rolled his eyes but smiled. "An excuse to take you shopping I guess."

"Wanna go now?" Blaine was already back up on his feet, lugging the box back toward the garage.

Kurt glanced at his phone. It was only about two in the afternoon and he had a missed call from Mercedes. "I never say no to shopping; mind if we pick up Mercedes on the way?"

"Sounds perfect." Blaine was already back in, Tucker trotting along at his side.

"Just let me get my things and we can go." Kurt pulled Mercedes name up in his contacts as he climbed the stairs to Blaine's room.

"Boy, I have been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday afternoon!" Mercedes whined.

"Hello to you too; happy first day of summer." He balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear as he dropped damp towels and abandoned shirts into Blaine's laundry hamper while searching for his own belongings.

"Where have you been? I wanted to go to the mall yesterday!"

"I'm in New Albany." Kurt found his t-shirt from the last day of school crumpled beneath Blaine's bed. He felt a pang of guilt for having abused his poor wardrobe so poorly. The things one does for love. "But Blaine and I were just discussing a trip to the mall. Wanna come?"

"New Albany twice in twenty four hours? How do you have any money left after the gas for that kind of driving?"

Kurt eyed his reflection in the mirror, smoothing a crease in the edge of yet another of Blaine's t-shirts he had borrowed. Plain gray was just so incredibly boring. "Who says I made two trips?"

"Shut up." Mercedes sounded excited.

"Fine, I will." Kurt smiled at his reflection before moving back toward the stairs.

"Details. Now." Mercedes demanded.

"No. Later." He replied. Blaine was bouncing on his heels in the doorway.

"Kurt, you do NOT get to imply you spent the night at your boyfriend's place and then just leave me hanging."

"Do you want to go to the mall or not?" Kurt jingled his keys at Blaine, implying he was ready to go.

"You aren't too worn out from the trip to your boyfriend's?" Mercedes voice pried for more.

"No, I took a nap." Kurt quipped, not minding when Blaine stole the keys from his hand and climbed into the driver's side of the Navigator.

Mercedes howled, "Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

"I am telling you that we will be picking you up in approximately two hours." Kurt replied.

"Fine, don't tell me anything." Mercedes sulked. "I'll get it out of Blaine while you try on half of Nordstrom's."

Kurt hung up, smiling to himself.

Blaine had on his stupid sunglasses and his fingers drummed the wheel as they say at a stoplight.

"Did you sleep at all?" Kurt queried, he had not missed the fact that Blaine was practically bouncing off the walls with energy.

"Little bit." Blaine replied, turning on the radio as they pulled onto the freeway.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive? You could nap on the way to Lima."

Blaine smiled. "Nah, I'm high off of summer and you, I don't need sleep."

They picked up Mercedes a couple hours later, and as promised, she harassed Blaine for answers while Kurt tried on clothes. When Kurt shoved Blaine into a dressing room with a mountain of things he had insisted Blaine try on, it was his turn to be interrogated by his best friend.

"Sounds like you two have had a busy start to summer." Mercedes grinned.

Kurt yawned and shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess Blaine wears you out more than you wear him out." Mercedes giggled.

"His energy is boundless." Kurt shook his head.

"Does he ever stop smiling?" Mercedes laughed. "I know being with you is a good time, but that boy is straight up drunk off you."

Kurt remembered the previous day when Blaine had indeed stopped smiling. He glanced toward the dressing room before speaking in a lowered tone. "He wasn't so pleasant yesterday when we ran into some old classmates of his."

Mercedes glanced toward the dressing room too before responding. "Like kids that bullied him?"

Kurt nodded, how could he have forgotten- even momentarily- about the events of the previous day? "I've never seen him so upset, 'Cedes. It was like he'd never left his old school the way he reacted. It was… I don't even know how to describe it."

"Hold up, you actually talked to these guys?" Mercedes clamped her mouth shut when Blaine came out of the dressing room, a despairing look directed toward Kurt.

"No." Blaine stated flatly, pointing a finger at the hot pink fabric. "Not happening."

Kurt had to make a conscious effort not to study Blaine for any hints of the confrontation the previous day. He forced a smile. "But it matches your new favorite sunglasses."

Blaine shook his head adamantly.

Kurt sighed, "Fine. Try something else then."

As soon as Blaine disappeared back into the little room, Kurt murmured the whole experience to Mercedes- leaving out some of the more disturbing details and Blaine's account of stars and the truth of the scar. Somehow without those things included, even in Kurt's ears, it didn't sound all that terrible.

Mercedes confirmed Kurt's feelings. "It sounds like he just got a little shaken up by seeing that again so suddenly. I mean, how would you have felt if Karofsky had shown up at Dalton one day while you were there?"

"This is Blaine though, Mercedes, not me." Kurt cringed when he thought back on some of the more disturbing moments he had kept from Mercedes. Blaine's knees buckling in the yard of the vacated yard as they left the park, Eric pressing a kiss to Blaine's forehead; Blaine's eyes. No, he was not over reacting to what had happened yesterday. So why was Blaine so happy? "And today it was like it had never happened; he's been like this since seven thirty this morning."

"He got upset and he brushed it off." Mercedes shrugged, then smiled. "And with you in his life, how could he stay sad about his past for long?"

Kurt smiled dubiously, "Still, it just seems… I don't know."

"Well, we can watch him and see what happens, but I think he's over it."

Kurt was about to question what they were supposed to be watching for exactly, but Blaine had come back around the corner, still looking irritated in a bright green Marc by Marc Jacobs t-shirt. "Do you hate me or do you just have a weird fetish for neons?"

"Remember our conversation about being bold?"

"This is not bold, this is how runners avoid getting hit by cars." Blaine stared down at the fabric. "And why is there a cartoon child on it? I feel like this is what they should force pedafiles to wear so we can identify them in a crowd."

"Do not insult the creativity of Marc Jacobs." Kurt reprimanded, but sighed. "Fine, we'll keep you in Burberry and Ralph Lauren. Happy?"

"Joyful." Blaine grinned and paraded back into his dressing room. A few hours later, they loaded back into Kurt's car, stuffing shopping bags into the backseat.

Kurt was exhausted, but Blaine was still wired with energy that he seemed to be able to pull from nowhere. "Now what?"

"Now, we pat ourselves on the back for a successful trip to the mall and we crash." Kurt replied.

"Aw, come on, you were the one yesterday who was so set on embracing summer." Blaine motioned a hand toward the blue skies out the window.

"Yeah, Kurt, it's the first day of summer, lets do something." Mercedes leaned forward and opened the sunroof.

Kurt contemplated what they could do as he pulled into his driveway. He clapped his hands together. "I have the perfect idea."

"You love this thing more than you love me."

"It's a close race, but you come out just a little bit ahead." Kurt smiled over his car at Blaine. "Scrub."

"I _am_ scrubbing." Blaine huffed, using both hands on the wet cloth in his hands to scour the hood. "I told you I'd pay to take it through the carwash."

"It's more satisfying to do it yourself." Kurt admired the gleaming black paint.

"For someone who seems so flamboyant, you sure take your car seriously." Blaine grumbled, dunking his arm into the plastic bucket of suds.

"For someone who seems so straight, you sure are acting gay about taking care of a car." Kurt retorted.

Blaine quirked an eyebrow, "I _am_ gay. What's your excuse?"

"I take pride in the beauty of all of my things." Kurt eyed Blaine up and down.

Blaine draped himself over the hood of the car, giving Kurt his best bedroom eyes. "Yeah?"

"Hello, reminder number fifty thousand, either remember you have company or get a room." Mercedes threw a sopping rag at Blaine. Her previous affections for Blaine and Kurt's sweet nothings had long since faded.

Blaine made a face when it struck him in the chest. He sat up on the front of the car, holding the thing a few inches away. "Why is it sexy when models squeeze water out of these things all over them in car commercials? It's full of bugs that got splattered on the car."

"I am going to spatter _you_ all over this car if you two don't tone it down." Mercedes huffed.

"Please don't, it would take forever to clean up." Kurt walked the perimeter of the car, inspecting it for any missed spots. "… And you already busted the window out once, isn't that enough damage?"

"Don't worry about the threat to my life or anything." Blaine griped.

Kurt rounded the Navigator to find Blaine sitting cross-legged in front of the car; his nose wrinkled with disgust beneath the hot pink Wayfarers as he scrubbed at the grill where many of the aforementioned carcasses of insects clung tightly. "Have I told you lately that you are positively adorable?"

Blaine turned his head and grinned up at Kurt. He and Mercedes both spoke at the same time "Yes."

"Kurt Hummel, I swear to God-" Mercedes came to stand beside Kurt, ready to tear his head off for inviting her over only so she could listen to him fawn over Blaine. She looked down at Blaine too and sighed. "He does look cute."

Blaine lifted his glasses to wink at Mercedes. They fell back down onto his nose on their own accord as he scrutinized the car. The few moments without the black lenses between he and the vermin glued to the car were apparently a little too much. He scrambled to his feet. "Power washing. This calls for power washing."

Kurt and Mercedes watched Blaine disappear around the side of the house. "He seems fine."

Kurt glanced toward the side yard to make sure his boyfriend was still cleanly out of earshot. "He does seem all right…maybe he's over it now, but I'm telling you 'Cedes, it was like he was sleepwalking. I guess you could be right… maybe he's over it."

"Over what?" Blaine appeared, tugging a hose after him.

"Over your love for hair gel." Kurt covered easily, fondly eyeing the curls on Blaine's forehead.

Blaine smiled ruefully, passing a hand through his hair before shrugging and turning his attention back to the car.

Kurt studied him for a few moments. He wished absently that little thought bubbles actually appeared over people's heads like in cartoons so he could see what was going on behind Blaine's peppy exterior.

Blaine's head turned in Kurt's direction, he grinned and directed the hose at Kurt, effectively drenching him.

"You're lucky you're so attractive, or I would claw your face off right now." Kurt rubbed the water from his eyes. Maybe the exterior was real after all.

Later that evening, Kurt made his second trip to New Albany to drop Blaine off at home. By the time they pulled into the driveway, streetlights had come on and there was a glow of houselights from the places on either side of Blaine's own dark-faced home.

"Thanks for making the drive again; my turn next time." Blaine remained in his seat, staring at the front of the house for a moment.

Kurt regarded the house too—depressing in its obvious vacancy. He yawned.

"Are you all right to drive home?" Blaine's hand brushed Kurt's.

Kurt rubbed his eyes briefly. "I think so; I'll keep the windows down- fresh air should do the trick."

Blaine regarded him cynically. "Not a very comforting thought."

"I have to work at my dad's shop tomorrow morning; I need to get back." Kurt replied, though his eyes burned with exhaustion.

Blaine studied him a moment longer before shaking his head. "You'll pass out before you even get to the exit for Dalton. Stay; I'll set an alarm and we'll go straight to sleep."

Kurt smiled briefly. "Straight to sleep?"

Blaine nodded adamantly, suppressing a smirk. "Promise."

Kurt sighed. "I'll call my dad and say I'm at Rachel's."

When they got up to Blaine's room, they climbed into bed. Kurt felt ready to pass out the second his head hit the pillow, but Blaine was restless beside him. Half asleep already, Kurt rolled onto his stomach and used one hand to rub slow circles on Blaine's back- the trick his mother had always used to put him to sleep when he was a child. He was not entirely sure if he drifted off before Blaine, but he was positive that he was the one to wake first a few hours later to shake Blaine from a screaming nightmare. He hugged him close, stroked his hair, and murmured all the clichés you sooth someone with. When he was sure he'd fallen back into unconsciousness, Kurt still smoothed the same circular pattern over his back, his mind more awake than it had been all day.

Kurt felt an ache in his chest for the sweet boy beside him. Pink sunglasses and a grin were easy walls to hide behind during the day, but nighttime had once again betrayed Blaine. Kurt felt the muscles of Blaine's shoulders twitch briefly below his hand. Kurt hushed him softly, hoping to ward off any more attacks of his lover's mental demons. Blaine had made things better for him more times than Kurt could count—he'd given Kurt his confidence back when he'd first come to Dalton, he'd given him his first solo in front of an audience, he had been the person—the perfect person—to say the things Kurt had longed his whole life to hear, looked at him the way Kurt believed no one would ever look at him. Blaine had put Kurt back together. Kurt pressed a kiss to the top of Blaine's head and whispered into the dark hair. "I will make this better."

* * *

**A/N: a big thank you to everyone who has been reading (or just started reading :) ) and an even _bigger_ thank you to those of you that review- it makes writing so much more fun when I get comments, I know I've said it before but seriously, I get embarrassingly excited when I see I have a new review haha. I have a crazy rest of the week so it might be a couple days before chapter 10 finds its way up here, but I'll do my best!**


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: Okay, before I say anything, I have to say a giant super huge endless **THANK YOU** to all of you who reviewed- it was seriously the brightest point of my otherwise crazy week to get to read all of your comments- it made me want to be able to upload another chapter for all y'all asap haha.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee

* * *

**Chapter 10**

'_Can't wait to see you'_ Kurt sent the text and smiled at the near-immediate response.

'_Right back at ya ;)' _

"Nauseating. Independence, Kurt; what happened to us being strong, _independent_ stars?" Rachel scowled.

"Aren't you here to see Finn?" Kurt sighed. Rachel had stormed down the basement stairs and laid down on her back beside Kurt only moments earlier.

"We're in the middle of a misunderstanding." Rachel glared over at the empty bed.

"And what pray tell, has been misunderstood this time?" Kurt's eyes drifted from the ceiling to Rachel's profile beside him.

"He has misunderstood, yet again, that I am right and he is wrong." Rachel huffed.

Kurt didn't bother asking what it was that Finn was wrong about- with Rachel it didn't really matter. "And I'm sure, yet again, he'll come to his senses soon enough."

Rachel launched into a tirade on Finn's many flawed moments, her hands flapping out the entire drama above their faces. Kurt listened in silence.

Finally Rachel ran out of breath and had to pause. She frowned and propped herself up on an elbow to stare down into Kurt's face. "That's it?"

"What?" Kurt frowned back.

"No sarcastic comments about me talking too much? No scathing observations about Finn's IQ? You're just going to lay here and listen to me?"

"Would you like me to conjure up a few pithy remarks?" Kurt quirked an eyebrow.

"Well, no, but…" Rachel studied his face. "Do you miss Blaine? Is that what this is about?"

"I saw him on Monday," Kurt replied mildly.

"Yes, but its Saturday. You two never go that long without seeing each other."

"That's only one day longer than we don't see each other during the school year, Rachel. And weren't you just tooting the importance of independence?"

"That's in the past," Rachel waved the comment aside with a hand, "It's okay to miss him. He's the person you love. I still love Finn; he's just being incorrigible right now."

Kurt sighed, "I do miss him, but it's more… I'm worried about him."

Rachel lay back down and, for once, didn't voice an opinion. "Why?"

"Remember how I told you about seeing those guys in the park? I think it really got to him…he's just not himself."

"But you haven't even seen him this week. Maybe you're just worrying over nothing."

"It's just a feeling… forget it. I'll see him tonight and we can see how things go." Kurt shook his head, trying to rid it of his darker suspicions. "Do you plan on amending things with Finn before going to our little soirée?"

Rachel sighed. "I suppose I could help him through the process of understanding why he's so wrong…later."

"No time like the present, mon ami." Kurt smiled absently at her.

"No; right now my fellow star on the rise needs some cheering up." Rachel seated herself at Kurt's vanity. "You can do my make up."

Kurt smiled despite himself. He could never resist a good make over.

* * *

"I bought you the damn wine coolers. If you wanted them cold, you should have put them in the cooler when you got here." Puck snapped at Santana.

"But they're coolers already…don't they just stay cold?" Brittany looked to Artie for an explanation.

"Shut up and just take a few shots instead; you won't notice the coolers are warm when you drink them then." Lauren glowered at Santana.

Kurt basked in the familiar griping, but kept an eye on the side of the house.

"Isn't Blaine coming, Kurt?" Mercedes queried from the other side of the fire.

"On his way." Kurt replied, trying to sound casual. Despite his reassurances to Rachel that six days without Blaine was no problem, he still longed for the familiar hand in his.

"I miss that guy." Sam glanced toward Kurt, "Not like in a gay way or anything."

"Thanks for the reassurance." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I miss him in a very straight way." Rachel chimed from her place on Finn's lap.

"She is not already drunk." Quinn looked to Sam incredulously. "She needs to drink less; the music is already so loud someone is definitely going to call a noise complaint in and it won't help if she's stumbling around when the police come."

Sam looked at Rachel and then shrugged toward Quinn. "Maybe you just need to drink more."

Before an argument could flair, Brittany suddenly clambered off Artie's lap to run toward the side yard. "Blaine's here!"

"How can she even see over there?" Puck squinted into the darkness where Brittany had disappeared.

It turned out Brittany had been correct; a few moments later Blaine rounded the house, his pink sunglasses in place despite the twilight, and Brittany piggy backed behind him. He dropped her down lightly beside him as they approached the fire, one arm casually slung over her shoulders and her arms wrapped tight around his middle. "Kurt, your boyfriend is here."

"Thank you for letting me know, Brittany." Kurt smiled up at them.

Brittany turned her attention back to Blaine's face, "I like your glasses."

Blaine took them off and placed them on her. "I like yours, too."

"These aren't mine. These are yours." Brittany frowned.

"Right, sorry." Blaine winked. "Hold onto them for me for awhile, would you?"

Brittany went back to Artie while Blaine said his hellos to the group before sitting down on the bench beside Kurt. He squeezed his hand briefly and smiled. "Hey, you."

"Hey yourself." Kurt smiled back, but was immediately concerned.

Dark rings were visible in the orange glow of the firelight below Blaine's eyes, and even his posture seemed fatigued. Still, he smiled. "Been awhile."

"It most certainly has. Miss me?" Kurt nudged Blaine's shoulder with his own.

"Couldn't sleep, couldn't eat," Blaine winked.

Kurt couldn't help but wonder if that was partially true. "I believe the couldn't sleep part. You look tired."

"I'm fine. Long drive over." Blaine shrugged.

"You, go talk to Tina about a new wardrobe or something. I need to chat with your boy toy." Santana stood in front of them, her hands on her hips and a glower directed toward Kurt.

"Santana, I really don't think—"

"I don't think I asked what you thought and I'm pretty sure I don't care. Move it." Santana hitched a thumb over her shoulder.

Kurt glanced at Blaine and shrugged helplessly as he made his way to go sit in a vacant chair by Mike. He groaned to himself when Santana immediately straddled Blaine's lap.

"I think Santana's putting the moves on your boyfriend, Kurt." Tina watched too as Santana held Blaine's face between both of her hands while she talked.

"Forgive me if I'm not wracked with jealousy." Kurt laughed slightly, seeing Blaine's despairing smile directed up at the woman in his lap, before turning his attention back to Tina and Mike.

"Hey, Lance Bass." Kurt glanced over upon hearing Santana's voice. She was waggling a finger to indicate he could return.

"Nice chatting with you." Kurt rolled his eyes toward Mike before moving back toward his previous place around the fire.

Before getting up, Santana kissed Blaine full on the mouth and whispered in his ear.

"Thanks for that." Kurt said flatly.

Santana looked him over and smirked. "Welcome to the Big Kids' table, Hummel. Let me know if you and your man want company some time."

Kurt tried to keep a blush from spreading over his face, but Blaine just laughed, stretching an arm out around Kurt's shoulders once he had reseated himself. "Are you planning on making out with all of my girl friends, or just exposing our sex life to them?"

"I was thinking we could just give a hands on demonstration, so we could skip the boring conversation. I know how much you like to multi-task." Blaine grinned.

Kurt blushed and smiled back, leaning on Blaine's shoulder to murmur in his ear. "Speaking of which, are you staying here tonight?"

Blaine shook his head. "Nah, my mom knows I'm in Lima. She'd freak if I didn't come back."

"You think you'll be able to drive back all right?" Kurt looked over Blaine's tired features again.

Blaine nodded adamantly. "Absolutely."

"You wouldn't let me drive back Sunday night and that was earlier than you'll be leaving here." Kurt retorted.

"Would you like me to just go now then?" Blaine snipped, surprising himself and Kurt.

"Of course not." Kurt's voice was soft. He found Blaine's hand and squeezed it in his own.

Blaine's eyes drifted around the group for a moment before he let a breath out of his nose. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that; I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for." Kurt lowered his voice. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm-" Blaine suddenly flashed a smile, his eyes not on Kurt.

Kurt followed Blaine's gaze to find Rachel stumbling toward them, Finn's hand holding the edge of her shirt to keep her from falling into the fire pit before making it across the short distance. "Oh, for the love of God."

Rachel dropped down into Blaine's lap—why all women felt the need to be in such physical contact with him was beyond Kurt. "Blaine the Warbler, I am so glad you're here."

"Rachel the Superstar, I am so glad to be here." Blaine retorted with a laugh.

"Kurt, Kurt Hummel." Rachel turned her gaze toward Kurt, her arms still tangled around Blaine's neck.

"Yes, Rachel Berry." Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"He is so wonderful. I am so glad he is gay for you." Rachel smiled blithely.

"Thank you, Rachel, for the charming sentiment." Kurt exchanged a look with Blaine.

Rachel's eyes turned back to Blaine's face. "He's got really good teeth. That's important."

Blaine snapped his teeth at Rachel a few times for show, making her giggle with delight.

"And great hair. If you two could have kids, they would have perfect hair." Rachel twirled a wavy lock around her finger, then leaned in closer to Blaine's face, squinting. "What's this from?"

Kurt felt his breath catch as Rachel ran a finger along the scar.

Blaine didn't even flinch. "Epic showdown for male lead in _Wicked_ against Norbert Butz. I won, but they took him anyway. His publicist was better."

"You would have been better." Rachel giggled, "and Kurt could be Elphaba, have you heard him sing _Defying Gravity_? It's amazing. You are _both_ amazing!"

Blaine had to make a quick grab to keep Rachel from tumbling off his lap as she threw both arms in the air. "Does that mean you would be Glinda?"

Blaine threaded Rachel along in casting them in various Broadway shows, a game everyone was soon involved in.

When it got late enough and the others started drifting into the house, Kurt walked with Blaine to his car. "A Broadway fist fight, hmm?"

Blaine smiled at Kurt. "Part true, right?"

"Blaine, I'm worried about you." Kurt sighed.

"What's there to worry about? I'm fine." Blaine kissed Kurt on the mouth before climbing into his car. "I'll see you Tuesday?"

Kurt frowned. "I guess so."

"What's wrong?" Blaine frowned up at him, his car door still hanging open and his feet on the pavement.

"Why are you just brushing me off right now?"

"In what way am I brushing you off?" Blaine's face fell, sensing an argument.

"I'm trying to talk to you and you're acting like you can't get out of here fast enough."

"First you want me to go so I won't be driving late, then you want me to stay. How am I supposed to win here, Kurt?" Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose briefly.

"By telling me what's going on." Kurt knelt down on the asphalt, his hands on Blaine's knees. "When was the last time you slept?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Last night, if my memory serves me right."

"For, what, five minutes?" Kurt pressed a hand to Blaine's cheek. "You look exhausted, Blaine."

For a moment, the dark haired boy leaned into Kurt's touch, his eyes closed. He pressed his hand over Kurt's. "I _do_ sleep. Just not well."

"You're having nightmares." Kurt said softly.

Blaine flinched, and then opened his eyes. "It'll pass. It's just a phase."

Kurt knew that tone; it was the tone Blaine used when he was echoing one of his parents. "What do your parents think?"

Blaine shook his head. "I always had sleep troubles as a kid, Mom thinks it's acting back up. She's right though, Kurt, it's nothing."

"It is not nothing, Blaine. Have you ever thought about seeing someone to talk about this?"

Blaine let out a short laugh. "Jesus, Kurt, I got shoved around a bit when I was younger, I don't need a shrink to cry to about monsters under my bed. Besides, I don't see you splayed out on a therapy couch."

"I'm not the one avoiding going to bed at night."

"It's a phase." Blaine repeated.

Blaine's hand drifted toward his forehead, but Kurt caught it in midair before it could reach its destination. "Is that a phase, too?"

Blaine opened his mouth, but ended up just closing it again, his eyes drifted away from Kurt's.

Kurt sighed, lowering their hands to rest on the space where their knees touched. "I've been trying to figure out all week how I can undo what I did last Saturday-"

"That wasn't your fault." Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand briefly.

"It was though. You can say it wasn't, but it was." Kurt looked away. "I just need to figure out what to do."

"Kurt, look at me." Blaine lifted his free hand to turn Kurt's face back toward his. "Do not mess with this- with them. I mean it."

"But, I-"

Blaine stared hard at him. "Promise me you will not go near them."

"Oh, please, Blaine, when would I even ever see them again?" Kurt rolled his eyes, but then squeezed Blaine's hand. "And I doubt you'll be seeing them anytime soon, either, so relax and get yourself some sleep."

Blaine dropped his hand from Kurt's face and sighed. "You're probably right…"

"I am always right." Kurt smiled reassuringly as he rose to his feet.

Blaine shut the door and started the car. He rolled his window down, "So is it safe to say now that I'll see you on Tuesday?"

"Yes, you can say that now." Kurt smiled. "And Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"One more thing." Kurt leaned down and pressed his lips against Blaine's. "No more nightmares. I love you."

Blaine smiled, "I love you, too."

Kurt stood in the street, watching Blaine's car until it disappeared out of sight before rejoining the others inside Puck's house. He climbed into bed with an already slumbering Mercedes. He watched the minutes tick by on the nightstand table until the red, glowing numbers read 3:19; the time Blaine should have arrived at home. Sure enough, Kurt's phone vibrated a minute later.

'_Made it home safe and sound. Sweet dreams. Xoxo'_

Kurt tapped out a response; content in knowing Blaine hadn't accidentally driven off the road somewhere during the commute. He should have closed his eyes to sleep, but instead he studied the red glow of the clock, wondering if Blaine was doing the same in his own bed. He picked up his phone once again.

'_Are you awake?'_

The response came a couple minutes later_. 'Will you be angry if I say yes?'_

'_No'_

'_Then yes. Can't you sleep?'_

Kurt sighed out loud. _'No. Can't you?'_

'…_Avoiding it for now. What's keeping you up?'_

'_The idea of you avoiding sleep.'_

'_You worry too much.'_

'_I don't think I worry enough.'_

'_I wish you wouldn't.'_

'_I know. That's what worries me.'_

His phone rang so abruptly to signal an incoming call, that Kurt nearly dropped it in surprise. He silenced the ring tone before answering in a whisper. "Hello?"

"Go to sleep." Blaine's voice was teasing.

"_You _go to sleep." Kurt glanced over at Mercedes who was still soundly dreaming.

"Kurt." Blaine sighed.

Kurt lay in silence for a moment. "I wish I could see you earlier than Tuesday."

"I know, I do too, but we both have work, there's not really a way round it. We've made it longer than three days in the past without being together. We can do it."

"Do you plan on going to bed anytime between now and Tuesday?"

"Kurt, you really do need to stop worrying. I'm fine."

"Just promise me you'll try, Blaine."

Blaine let out a long sigh. "Trying is what I do best, Kurt. Get some sleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow. I love you."

Before Kurt could respond, the call was ended. He put his phone back on the nightstand and stared into the darkness. Maybe Blaine's trying just wasn't good enough. If that were the case, Kurt would just have to try harder for both of them. He finally felt a wave of sleepiness overcome his mind, but not before one last thought plagued him. Try _what_?

* * *

**A/N: so i wish after how good you all were to me that i could have been equally good to you and uploaded a chapter with a little more excitement and not so much spinning in circles, but it's just a teensy tiny bit too early in the game for that- so to make it up to you all i plan on giving you a chapter with a little more meat and a little more intrigue for 11 very very soon. I know I already said it at the beginning of the chapter, but I'm going to say it again because I mean it with all sincerity: thank you thank you thank you for all of the reviews :)**


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: Hello all, I got a little excitable and wrote up chapters 11 and 12 in one big push. I have another insane week this week so I am actually thinking of getting twelve up fairly soon, but here's 11 at least for now; enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee

* * *

**Chapter 11**

"What exactly are you hoping to see?" Kurt smiled. Blaine was staring intently into his coffee cup. Spinning his little wooden stirring stick around and around.

Blaine looked back and smiled sheepishly, "Not really sure; just watching, I guess."

"I don't know how you can even get coffee this time of day. It's so hot and you have to wear that uniform." Kurt wrinkled his nose toward the sun pouring into the Lima Bean.

"I like coffee." Blaine shrugged, sucking off the stick before discarding it onto the tabletop. "And the uniform brings in a paycheck, so I won't complain about that either."

Blaine was working at Dalton giving tours to potential new students for the fall semester. Despite his indifference toward having to wear the uniform in the hot summer months, he had draped his jacket over the back of his chair and rolled his sleeves halfway up his arms. "How are things at the shop?"

"Uneventful." Kurt rolled his eyes. "Have you tried giving any musical tours yet?"

Blaine chuckled, "Not so sure they'd go for that. Maybe later in the summer when things start to get a little redundant."

"Isn't the tour guide routine redundant somewhere around the second tour?" Kurt sipped his coffee cooler, enjoying being clear of grease and his coveralls for more than twenty-four hours. He liked working for his dad, but it didn't give him much of an opportunity to show off his new clothes.

Blaine opened his mouth to respond, but his eyes drifted from Kurt's face toward the counter.

Kurt felt his heart skip a beat. Blaine recognized someone. Was it Mikey or Max? Or worse, Eric?

"…Nadia?" Blaine slowly rose from his seat.

Kurt felt a momentary wave of relief that none of his guesses had been right. He twisted in his seat to look toward the line of patrons.

The girl at the counter looked over toward Blaine's voice. Her green eyes went wide. "Blaine? Blaine Anderson, that is _not_ you."

Blaine let out a laugh, but before he could approach her, she had raced across the space and flung herself up into his arms. He caught her and staggered back, bracing her waist with one arm when she wrapped her legs around his middle and her arms around his neck. "Nice to see you, too."

"Oh my God, Blaine; I can't believe you're _here_!" Nadia untangled her legs from him so he could set her back on the ground, but her hands remained on his shoulders. "Look at you!"

Blaine laughed and touched the hair just barely brushing her shoulders. "Look at _you_. You cut off your hair!"

She glanced upward toward her bangs and then grinned at him. "I did it ages ago. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Miss, you need to pay for your order." The barista was leaned over the counter, looking irritated.

"Forget it!" Nadia waved a hand to dismiss the other woman.

"No, go get your drink." Blaine shoved a five-dollar bill into her hand and closed her fingers around it. "Then get back over here and tell me whose hearts you've been breaking these days."

Nadia smiled adoringly at him before bouncing back toward the counter.

Blaine smiled after her fondly.

"Do you plan on telling me who your long lost corner worker is, or do I just have to piece it together myself?" Kurt stared, dumbstruck, from his seat.

Blaine opened his mouth, but then the girl was back, cup in hand. Blaine stood and pulled a chair out for her. She curtsied at him (though her skirt was far too short to actually lift at all) and winked before settling down into the offered seat and dropping the change on the table beside Blaine's cup. The two stared at each other, stupid grins glued to both of their faces.

Kurt cleared his throat, "Blaine?"

"Right, sorry." Blaine laughed, shaking his head. "Kurt, this is Nadia Fisher. She was my best friend growing up."

"Pleasure." Kurt smiled, offering a hand.

"Pleasures all mine." Nadia shook it. She looked at Blaine for a moment before looking back to Kurt then back to Blaine, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Blaine, is this your…"

"Boyfriend." Blaine finished, smiling at Kurt and nudging his foot briefly under the table.

"Oh, Blaine." Nadia reached out and squeezed his hand. She smiled and Kurt thought for a moment she might cry. "You finally- he's so- Oh God, B, I'm so happy for you."

Blaine blushed and laughed and winked at Kurt. "Yeah, he's great."

The two stared at each other for a moment, her hand still resting on his. He laughed again and squeezed her fingers gently between his own.

Kurt didn't know if he was more flustered or more moved by the unspoken conversation, but he couldn't help but be glad to see Blaine look so genuinely happy.

Finally Nadia looked back to Kurt. "Did you meet at Dalton then?"

Blaine explained he and Kurt's history. Dropping in enough praise toward Kurt's singing to make his counterpart blush when Nadia smiled admiringly at him.

"It's so wonderful. For both of you." Nadia pulled her feet up onto her chair to sit cross-legged, holding her cup between both hands she looked between Kurt and Blaine over and over as though she simply couldn't get enough of it.

"So what have you been up to? Other than chopping off your hair, I mean." Blaine looked over the auburn locks atop her head then leaned forward to lift a section and study it closer. "Are those feathers in there?"

She pulled the piece free from his fingers and smoothed it back into place. "Yes. They're extensions."

"They're from a _bird_." Blaine replied.

"That's generally where feathers come from, B, and they're from the salon so it's not like I just picked them up off the street and glued them in there so stop looking at me like I'm a crazy person." She lifted a section of hair to study the sleek little black and gold striped pieces herself. Apparently satisfied with it, she tucked it back in with the rest.

"I never said you were a crazy person." Blaine raised both hands in the air.

"You implied it." Nadia turned her attention to Kurt. "Kurt likes them, don't you, Kurt?"

Kurt smiled briefly at her, still overwhelmed by her sudden drop-in to their lives. "As a matter of fact, I do. Very edgy."

"You hear that, B?" Nadia scooted her chair closer to Kurt's. "Your boyfriend thinks they make me look edgy. Your _boyfriend_; God, I can't get over that."

Blaine smiled and shook his head. "I won't try to argue with Kurt's fashion sense. Are you going to tell me about your life or not?"

Nadia took a drink from her cup before smiling. "Well, right after you abandoned me, New Albany Dance Team won state, thank you very much. I don't know, nothing interesting other than that…we got second this year. Carmel bitches, I think they were sleeping with the judges. They had to be. It was, like-God, whatever, I'm over it. Anyway, I don't know. Nothing that exciting, school and work and dance."

"Nothing exciting in the life of the fabulous Nadia Fisher?" Blaine raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that."

Nadia sniffled indignantly. "Well maybe things are just in the past now. If you had bothered to call me even once since you left, I would have had more details to give."

Blaine flinched. "I am sorry I didn't keep in touch, I just…"

Nadia dropped the indignant look and moved her chair back to its original place. "I was only kidding, B. I mean, I do wish you had at least dropped a text or something, but I get it. You had to get out of there."

Blaine smiled grimly. "Yeah, but that's a pretty shitty excuse. I could have called or something, I guess I just got so focused on stripping myself of the whole thing I didn't put much thought into anything—or anyone—else."

Nadia shrugged. "Whatever. Over it. I'm just glad to see you now."

Blaine smiled at her "You too."

She studied his face for a moment before smiling again, reaching up to touch his cheek with a hand. "You seem happy, Blaine. Tired. But happy."

Blaine glanced at Kurt then at Nadia. "I _am_ happy."

Blaine's phone went off, vibrating across the table. He lifted it and smiled apologetically at the other two. "Sorry, it's work."

Nadia dropped her hand from his face. "Take it. Kurt and I can chat for awhile."

Blaine rose from the table and disappeared out the door to find a quieter area.

Nadia stirred her straw around in her iced coffee for a moment. "You two seem great together."

"We are." Kurt blushed, "I mean, he's wonderful."

"How has he been?" Nadia looked out the glass-fronted store toward where Blaine stood, leaned against his car in the lot. "I haven't seen him smile this much in a long time."

Kurt studied the girl for a moment before responding. "He's good…for the most part."

Nadia's eyes drifted back toward Kurt. "People are good to him at Dalton, aren't they? Please say they are."

Kurt nodded his head quickly. "Oh, yes! Everyone loves Blaine."

Nadia looked relieved. "I don't know why anyone ever wouldn't. He's always been such a sweetheart. Clueless. But a sweetheart."

Kurt laughed a little, happy to find someone else who saw Blaine as he did. He glanced toward the parking lot where Blaine was now sitting on the hood of his car, looking irritated with whoever was on the other line. "…Nadia, do you know Eric Marlow?"

Nadia looked surprised for a moment, then wary. "Of course I do. Why?"

"It's just… Blaine and I ran into him a week ago, and-"

"Did he hurt him?" Nadia's eyes went back to the window to scrutinize the other boy's profile.

"No," Kurt folded his hands on the table, unsure of how much he could tell this sudden apparition of Blaine's past. "But he definitely unsettled him."

Nadia turned her attention back to Kurt, studying him. "Does Blaine ever talk about New Albany?"

Kurt returned the look of scrutiny. "Not much. I know it was enough to make him feel like he had no choice but to leave…and apparently those feelings haven't changed much."

Nadia winced, "I wish I could have done something… I tried, I really did, but in the end, Blaine, he-"

Kurt and Nadia both looked toward the front of the coffee shop when the little bell in front of the door rang out to announce someone's entrance. Blaine strode back in, tucking his phone into his pocket.

"Nadia," Kurt spoke in a low, rushed tone. "Do you think you and I could maybe go shopping or something sometime…and talk?"

Nadia smiled at Blaine as he settled back at the table. "You two have enough to talk about without me here to facilitate conversation?"

"Kurt and I were just making plans to go shopping sometime soon." Nadia flipped her hair behind her shoulder and held out a hand toward Kurt. "Give me your phone; I'll enter my number."

"A. You could have invited your long lost best friend, too, and B. I could have given him your number." Blaine pouted.

"A. You insulted my hair, and only true fashionistas get to be a part of this outing and B. Hello, two year old number in your phone, Blaine; I got a new one." Nadia rolled her eyes and handed the phone back to Kurt before glancing at Blaine. "Kurt can give you my new number. You remember how to call people, right?"

Blaine laughed. "Jeez, a little hostile about this whole thing, aren't you?"

"TWO YEARS, BLAINE!" Nadia waved her hands in the air, catching the attention of some of the other customers.

"Hush," Blaine smiled apologetically to the other patrons before looking back to Nadia. "Fair enough. I'll call. I promise."

"Shit. I am so late; I was supposed to be at Keira's like twenty minutes ago to—you remember Keira, she has like super blonde hair, well I guess it was black when you knew her, but, God, whatever it doesn't even matter—moral of the story is she's going to kick my ass for not being at her place a thousand years ago." Nadia was suddenly up and out of her seat, digging through her oversized purse. "Shit, I always lose my keys in here…"

Blaine watched her for a moment before leaning over toward the floor. When he straightened back up in his seat, he jingled a set of silver keys attached to about fifteen key chains. "I don't think these are Kurt's."

Nadia tried to snatch them from Blaine's hand, but he held on tight.

"I'm glad we ran into each other, N." Blaine smiled, his fingers still around the keys.

Nadia smiled. "Me too, B. Fuck Keira, this was totally worth it."

Blaine released his hold on her keys. "See ya around."

"I'd fucking better." Nadia leaned in and kissed Blaine full on the mouth. "Be a good boy. Call me soon."

She straightened up, but before racing out the door she leaned over the back of Kurt's chair to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Take good care of my baby, and call me when you want to go on that shopping trip. Nice meeting you!"

Before Kurt could respond, she was gone out the door, racing toward a little white Mazda in the lot, her phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she climbed in.

"Wow. Just…wow." Kurt stared at the vacated parking space for a moment before looking back to his boyfriend. "Did we just agree to a threesome or something without my knowledge?"

Blaine smiled and shook his head. "She hasn't changed a bit."

"Apparently you have though, _B_." Kurt raised an eyebrow.

Blaine blushed and shrugged. "She's called me that since we were kids… you two seemed like you hit it off okay."

"She's sort of like…. If you combined Kesha, Santana, Quinn, and you then added a shot of cocaine." Kurt smiled sardonically.

Blaine tilted his head thoughtfully, "Subtract Santana from that equation and maybe add a little more cocaine."

"God, the way you two settled in I'm shocked you hadn't so much as said hello in the super market once or twice in two years."

Blaine groaned. "I know, I know. I guess… I meant what I said- I was so focused on just getting the hell away from all of it…but I'm glad we saw her; we used to be so close…"

Kurt's phone lit up on the tabletop.

"_Hey cupcake, this is Nadia. Pick a day for our shopping trip!"_

"Apparently she's decided you two are going to be close, too." Blaine chuckled when Kurt displayed the text for him. "My boss called to say he wants me to work Friday morning—you should go with her then, and we can all hang out afterwards."

Kurt nodded, sending the message to see if the date would work out.

"_Sounds perf. I've got dance until 10, but I'm available anytime after. Can't wait to play XoXo"_

"Should I be kind of frightened?" Kurt turned his phone for Blaine to see. "I'm kind of frightened."

Blaine smiled almost indulgently. "You'll love her, just give her some time. Her emotions are just all very…outward."

* * *

Kurt had no choice but to take Blaine for his word when the little white Mazda pulled into his driveway that Friday blasting Sugarcult approximately twenty seven minutes after she had called breathlessly to swear she'd be there in five.

"I had you pegged as a Brittany Spears and Lady Gaga type." Kurt shouted over the music as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Nadia turned the radio down and motioned toward her I-pod that was plugged into the car's stereo system. "I love everything, make your pick. Love the Roberto Cavalli tee, by the way."

Kurt glanced down at his shirt, pleased to have it recognized before looking over her outfit. Ripped off jean shorts and a loose neon pink t-shirt he could spy her black bra through. "Thank you, glad you're able to appreciate it."

When they arrived at the mall, Nadia slipped a hand over Kurt's elbow and chattered amicably about a party she'd heard about near Lima Saturday night that she felt they absolutely had to go to. She interrogated Kurt about every aspect of his life—especially fascinated by his time with the Cheerios—and gushed over how lucky Blaine was to have him. Despite her outfit choice for the day and her inability to leave any store without flirting with at least one attractive male employee, Kurt found himself liking the little brunette. She managed to select several shirts he actually approved of, and they both cooed over a shirt that would look perfect on Blaine. She had insisted on paying for it.

"Diet Pepsi. I need a Diet Pepsi now." She dragged Kurt toward the food court abruptly, already digging with her free hand in her purse for money. She released her hold on Kurt only to drop a few crumpled bills on the counter. The cashier looked over Nadia and sneered, but Nadia seemed unruffled, she smiled back and thanked the woman behind the counter politely before flouncing away.

"Well, she was a bitch." Kurt glanced over his shoulder toward the cashier as he followed after his shopping partner.

Nadia took a long drink from her straw, "Who?"

"The cashier; did you miss the look she gave you or were you so involved in your caffeine deprivation that you just weren't processing?" Kurt shook his head when Nadia offered him the paper cup.

"Oh, her." She shrugged, "Not worth my time."

Kurt smiled. Yes, he liked Nadia Fisher. He found her free hand and looped it back around his elbow.

"You wanted to talk about Blaine." Nadia said after they had passed a few more storefronts.

Kurt nodded slowly.

"I talked to him Wednesday night. He mentioned running into Eric, but he didn't have much to say about it." Nadia shook her cup near her ear to ensure it was empty before dropping it into a garbage can.

"Not surprising." Kurt sighed; his shopping high dropped a few notches. "What was Blaine like when he went to school with you?"

"When we were little kids, like eight you know, he was a happy little guy, but I mean, what's not to be happy about when you're eight?" Nadia waved to a group of girls but didn't pause to say hello.

Kurt contemplated mentioning that dead mothers tend to make for a pretty depressing eighth year of life, but thought better of it. "What about when you guys got older? Did you stay friends?"

Nadia glanced out of the corner of her eye toward Kurt. "You're wondering how the slutty dance queen and the quiet gay kid stayed pals."

Kurt blushed. "I don't mean to-"

Nadia smiled and squeezed his arm. "Relax. Everyone wondered about that. Blaine and I got shoved into play dates when we were like barely out of diapers, our Dads worked together, but then my dad got fired and there was like this massive falling out between our parents and B but I were like, whatever, so doesn't involve us. I don't know… Blaine and I just always got each other, even when I started dancing and our friend groups changed, we were the ones one another turned to when we needed a shoulder to lean on… blame it on us both being pretty girls with daddy issues I guess."

Kurt frowned, not really finding the joke all that funny, but decided detangling the web of Blaine and Nadia's relationship wasn't really the information he was after that day anyway. "So you knew he was gay."

Nadia looked thoughtful. "Yeah…I don't know if he ever, like, sat me down and announced it or anything, but we both knew. We tried to, like, experimentally make him straight when we were fourteen. _So_ did not happen."

Kurt smiled. "He mentioned that once, I think… he said someone beat him up when you guys were still kids though, for being…well, himself."

Nadia cringed and nodded. "It got worse as we got older; when we were like thirteen and fourteen those boys would gang up on him. Blaine is so stubborn—he wouldn't let me tell his mom or my mom or anyone. I snuck him into my basement a few times to clean up his face and change clothes if he got muddied up or anything, I think I still have a pair of his jeans hidden in the storage room… he got a little more serious, but he did okay for a kid. Most of the jocks didn't mess with him—they knew he was my friend— but I didn't have much pull with Mike, Max, and Chris; they're big, but they have the athletic prowess of rhinos, so they spent most of their time with each other drinking beer behind the bleachers. So incredibly _not_ hot."

"What about Eric?"

Nadia paused. She glanced around until she spied a bench. She spoke only once they had sat down. "Eric Marlow didn't come to school with us until the very end of eighth grade. Transferred in from somewhere in the Northeast…. People knew Blaine was gay, but it wasn't anything he flaunted or anything—he was a pretty quiet guy actually…but I swear to God, Eric had him singled out from day one. Blaine was terrified of him."

Kurt felt a tingle at the base of his neck that made him want to shudder. He suppressed it, and waited for Nadia to continue.

"Blaine was decent at letting things sort of roll off of him, but it was like Eric knew exactly what to say to him to just tear him apart. Eric's a good student, really like, freaky smart, so I guess it wasn't such a shocker that he could get Mikey and those boys to follow him around like puppies and go after Blaine. They never went after any other kids as far as I know." Nadia tucked her hair behind her ear. "I even tried flirting with Eric to get him to ease up- went to a movie with him and everything, but it didn't change anything—well, Blaine was bent all out of shape that I went on the date, and it was a total waste because it didn't change anything, actually things just seemed like they got worse."

"What happened?" Kurt ignored an incoming call from Rachel.

Nadia played absently with the handle of one of her bags. "They hit him so hard sometimes…. Never in the face so anyone could see… but, God, I _know_ they had to have broken a few of his ribs- there were days he looked like he was going to be sick just from trying to inhale and exhale. But he would never tell, even when I cried and begged him to, he would tell me it was pointless and to let it be…."

"So you did." Kurt said flatly, biting back his disdain and suddenly feeling an edge of dislike toward the stupid little girl beside him.

She looked at him fiercely, suddenly not seeming like such a little girl. "Did your friends tattle for you every time some one pushed you around? Am I some massively stupid bitch for not running to his daddy and spilling all of his secrets? Blaine and I had a system and I wasn't going to be the bitch that broke that down, so don't you dare judge me- I can do that for myself."

Kurt felt a twinge of remorse. Two years separation or not, she clearly loved Blaine almost as much as he did. "I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean to offend you… I just… it's hard to think about anyone hurting him."

"It's okay… I told you, Blaine and I didn't make sense to a lot of people, but we made sense to us. Well I _thought_ we did." Nadia moved her hand from her Bloomingdale's bag to one of the feathers in her hair, running a fingertip along its edge.

"Something happened so that things _didn't_ make sense." Kurt prompted.

Nadia nodded slowly. "I was so busy with dance for awhile—we were going to be competing for state, and I was choreographing at the studio for some of the senior's solo performances, and things were all so crazy, and so it just seemed like out of nowhere he wouldn't talk to me. He wouldn't even wave to me in the hallway."

"Did you confront him?" Kurt prayed that it wasn't a rule somewhere in the Nadia-Blaine Handbook that confrontations were prohibited.

"Of course I did." Nadia sighed. "He wouldn't tell me anything. Just that Eric was wearing him down and that he was tired."

Kurt felt let down. This information was nothing new. "He never explained it to you?"

"Have you ever tried to get Blaine Anderson to open up about something he doesn't really feel like chatting about?" Nadia said incredulously.

"Touché." Kurt sighed.

"Kurt... he wouldn't even smile. It was like he was a ghost, and then one day he was just _gone_. He was my best friend, and I had to find out from the secretary in the front office that he'd transferred to Dalton because he wouldn't return my calls… I thought about going to his place, but…" Nadia's eyes shone with tears.

Kurt reached over and pulled her hand from her hair to hold it.

She smiled despite the tears that had started to slip down her cheeks. "And then out of nowhere he was at the coffee shop. Two years without so much as running into him at the gas station in New Albany, and he was just sitting there in Lima. God, Kurt, seeing him was like… he was so _happy_, and he had you, and he was smiling… it didn't matter anymore why all of that shit happened; it's so incredibly wonderful to see him smile."

Kurt felt his own eyes tear over momentarily for the girl beside him.

She sniffled and laughed, pulling her hand from his to dig a compact out of her purse. "God, sorry, I never cry like this, I swear."

"No…it's nice. To see someone else loves him as much as I do." Kurt blinked back his own tears.

"What's he like at Dalton; is he still acting?" Nadia was reapplying mascara in front of her little mirror.

"Acting?" Kurt laughed. "No, he sings at Dalton. For their glee club."

Nadia snapped the mirror shut. "That's good; he has a nice voice. He was way more involved in the drama department in New Albany, but singing… yeah I can see him doing that too."

"He's good, really good, and he loves it." Kurt filed away the little fact about Blaine's past in theatre with thoughts about Blaine's fear of sharks and his inability to pronounce the word cinnamon without flip-flopping the m and n sounds at least twice. The little things he liked to tease him about from time to time.

"You said he hasn't seemed so happy lately though?" Nadia rose from the bench, gathering her bags.

Kurt looped the handle of a Victoria Secret bag over her arm for her before speaking. "Compared to what you've told me, he's practically vomiting rainbows and smiley faces, but from what I know of him… he's just…. Off. It all started in the spring really, I guess, he had a nightmare and-"

Nadia groaned. "He's still having nightmares? I swear to Jesus, if that stupid kid would talk about his feelings from time to time he wouldn't have all of these Freudian slip ups."

"So he's always had them." Kurt felt a pang of hurt as he thought back on Blaine's reassurances that it was just a phase.

"Not always, but for a long time, like, I don't remember when they started. I was like a fucking nighttime ninja trying to shut him up when I let him sleep over so my parents wouldn't hear." Nadia shook her head; she glanced at Kurt then and frowned. "I probably shouldn't just be spilling his whole life to you like this."

Kurt had realized early in the day that it was best to let Nadia counsel _herself_ when she seemed unsure about something, so he remained silent as they moved toward the parking lot to go home. Sure enough, she started talking herself in a circle.

"I mean, it's his life and I don't think he's spilling all my deep darks to yoy for some nice pillow talk or anything, but I'm like, trying to help him out here by telling you this. I mean, you're his boyfriend. You should know." Nadia nodded her head, apparently reassured by herself. She shoved her shopping bags into the trunk brusquely.

Kurt smiled briefly at her; relieved her go around had come out in his favor. "I do appreciate it. Blaine can be such an enigma sometimes… he's always fussing over me to make sure I'm all right, and I'm safe and I'm happy. Sometimes I feel like I don't even know enough of what's going on with him to even know if there's something wrong I can help him with. So this Eric thing…it's just…unsettling."

Nadia regarded him for a moment, then suddenly took his face between both of her hands and planted a kiss on his mouth. "You are too good to be true, K. Blaine couldn't get any luckier in who he got for a guy."

Kurt blushed at the sudden touch of her lips but rolled his eyes. "K? What is this, some bad episode of _Gossip Girl_? Why are we all going by first initials?"

"Shut up, you think it's cute and you know it." Nadia dropped her keys into Kurt's hand and clambered into the passenger side of the car—apparently deciding she was not in the mood to play driver—she contented herself with shuffling through her I-Pod. "Let's go surprise B at work."

"I really don't think Dalton will appreciate a woman coming into one of their tours. Especially one so meagerly dressed." Kurt used the tips of two of his fingers to push one of her bra straps back up her arm from where it poked out beneath her t-shirt.

"Fuck you, I look hot. And hello, fashion police, check out a magazine once and awhile- this is a _look_." Nadia motioned a hand over her ensemble.

"A look that says you either just left the corner or you're headed there now." Kurt checked his bangs in the rearview mirror.

Nadia flipped her hair behind her shoulder—a mannerism Kurt had already started to recognize as much as he noted Blaine's. "You're jealous that you can't wear shorts this small, that's all."

"On the contrary, I am for once _relieved_ that cut off shorts are limited to women's fashion because I would not be able to display my pasty thighs to the entire world."

Nadia stretched a leg across his lap. "Perks of being a dancer."

Kurt glanced down at the tanned, tone limb draped across him and smiled. "I'm sure if I were straight, I would find this all very alluring."

Nadia rubbed the heel of her foot on his upper thigh and laughed. "Yeah?"

Kurt let go of the wheel with one hand to shove her foot further down his lap toward his knees. "Ugh, so you're where Blaine gets this."

Nadia let out a loud burst of laughter. "Oh my God, B getting all seductive. Too perfect."

Kurt blushed; he had forgotten once again that the Blaine he and Nadia knew seemed to be two separate people. "Well, he- I mean, I- we-."

Nadia folded her leg back into her own seat and laughed again. "Oh no, don't get all bashful on me. Come on, spill; who's the steamier one in the couple?"

Kurt felt the blush spread further, but still managed to mumble. "…Blaine. Blaine is definitely the sexy one."

Nadia grinned, nodding to herself. "B has gotten damn fine since we were younger. I don't blame you for getting all hot and bothered by him."

Kurt rolled his eyes but smiled all the same.

"You know," Nadia appraised Kurt for a moment. "I think we should turn the tables. A few little lessons from me, and you will blow our sweet little Honey Bee's mind."

"If these little lessons involve any demos, I think I'll pass." Kurt glanced sideways at his passenger.

"Oh, hush, I don't have cooties." Nadia folded her legs beneath her on the seat. "Lesson number one: the 'I want you' hand hold."

"Nadia, I really don't think-"

Nadia caught his hand in hers and held it over the cup holder between them. "See, a nice cuddly car hand holding sesh."

Kurt glanced down at their hands despite himself. "Okay…"

"But then you decide, huh, I don't want to just play Troy and Gabriella cuddle buddies- I mean, I really do think they fuck like bunnies secretly, but for Disney purposes they just sing and cuddle—anyway, you look at all those sexy curls and those dreamy eyes and you decide. I want this guy." Nadia brushed a thumb across Kurt's hand. "So you start, real casual like, rubbing your thumb over his."

Kurt couldn't decide if he was more mortified or more curious, but he didn't have time to decide. Nadia had continued her tutorial as they merged onto the Dalton exit.

"Then, you pull his hand up by you." Nadia rested their elbows in the space between them and pulled their interlocked hands toward her. "And you give it a nice little kiss."

"I'm a little shocked to be saying this, but this all seems fairly chaste." Kurt smiled slightly as they pulled into the Dalton parking lot.

"That's the best part; it's a sneak attack!" Nadia, Kurt realized, hadn't let go of his hand yet. "So you kiss it a little more…"

Kurt glanced furtively around the grounds surrounding the parking lot- a tour group was making their way across the front lawn. "Nadia, maybe we should-"

"Then you open up his hand and you kiss him like this." Nadia seemed unfettered by having to pry open Kurt's fingers to touch kisses to his exposed palm and the edges of his fingers. "Then you go in for the kill."

Kurt was momentarily relieved when the tour group disappeared back through the front doors, but then he let out a yelp of surprise. Nadia had nipped one of his fingers before slipping it into her mouth.

She let go of him with a triumphant grin. "You see? Works every time!"

"I am traumatized." Kurt cradled his hand against his chest.

Nadia pulled down her mirror to check her lip-gloss. "Next time you're on a little outing with your man, you're going to thank me."

"Or have a post-traumatic stress break down." Kurt grumbled.

"Do not try to tell me for even one second that you would not love to melt Blaine into a little puddle of desire all for you." Nadia raised a cynical eyebrow toward Kurt.

Kurt opened his mouth, but had to shut it and look away with a blush.

Nadia tapped a finger on the tip of his nose. "That's what I thought. We'll commence lessons another day. I spy a very sexy tour guide."

Kurt looked across the lot and spotted Blaine, walking backwards in front of a group of boys even smaller than him. He stopped them out front and the group started to disperse, a few parents hanging back to chat with him.

Nadia watched for a moment more before climbing out of the car, Kurt rushing after her to try and keep her from interrupting any of the potential Dalton parents in their talks with their guide. Nadia looped her hand around his arm when he caught up to her and waited patiently out of eyesight for Blaine to finish up.

When the last parent finished her chatter with Blaine, tugging her son toward the car when he gawked at the scantily clad dancer nearby, Nadia quietly sneaked up behind Blaine. "Meow."

Kurt frowned at her; seriously, Blaine and Nadia might be a more complicated couple of people than Sid and Nancy.

Blaine pivoted around, looking surprised for a moment, and then grinning as he looked over Nadia. "Me-_ow_. Does Kesha know you raided her closet?"

"Fuck you, she got into _mine." _Nadia looked over Blaine. "Does George Bush know you raided his?"

"President's don't wear suits with red piping." Blaine winked at Kurt.

Nadia traced a hand over his lapel and smiled. "Well maybe they should. You look damn fine. Doesn't he, K?"

"As always." Kurt agreed.

"Watch it, N, you'll turn my boyfriend into you."

"Well then, lucky you." Nadia smiled. "When are you done with the Tour Guide Ken routine?"

"Now, actually." Blaine glanced at his watch.

"Perf, lets drop off your car and hit the town." Nadia pivoted on her hell without waiting for a response, Kurt trailing helplessly after her.

"See you in twenty?" Blaine called after them.

Nadia seemed to suddenly realize Kurt was beside her. She stopped in her tracks, grabbed both his shoulders and turned him back toward Blaine. "No, no, no. You're riding with him. You have some practicing to do."

"But, I-"

"But fucking nothing; if that boy is not disoriented with lust by the time I pull into the driveway, I am never letting you have your bags out of my trunk. Shoo." She shoved him lightly back toward Blaine so he had no choice but to follow orders.

"Boss lady says I'm with you." Kurt smiled and shrugged as he approached Blaine's car.

"Her loss." Blaine smiled, loosening his tie as he climbed into the driver's seat. "You two have fun today?"

"Yes…she's quite the character." Kurt smiled to himself.

Blaine chuckled and squeezed Kurt's hand briefly. "She's one in a million, that's for sure. You guys had plenty to talk about, I'm sure."

"Loads." Kurt glanced down at their hands briefly.

Blaine let go to peel off his blazer and roll up his sleeves. "Jesus it's hot."

"It most certainly is." Kurt caught Blaine's fingers between his own and brushed his thumb across the back of his hand.

* * *

**A/N: I've been excited about getting Nadia in here for awhile- she was such a fun character to put together and a lot of the time developing her involved Ke$ha playing in the background haha. I know I've kept this story pretty light now since the Eric incident, so for those of you getting impatient for a bit of drama I just have to offer the little teaser that chapter 12 will be the beginning of some serious stuff. Get excited boys and girls, I know I am :) Gimmegimmegimme some reviews (you know how much of a sucker I am for a review) and maybe just maybe I'll get twelve on here before the weekend is over ;)**


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee**

**A/N: Here is chapter 12 as promised. I would like to just leave you with the end of this chapter rather than any last minute thoughts from me as an author's note afterwards so all my little thoughts are going to come up here in this one: 1. It's probably going to be Friday before I can get anything else up here- I have a week even crazier than my last week in terms of school stuff 2. that being said, you know how much i love reviews so please oh please oh please oh please review this chapter for me and maybe just maybe if you have friends on here who like glee fics tell them to check mine out (and then of course review so i have something exciting to look forward to between study sessions and paper writing) and finally 3. all i have to say about this actual chapter is that when it rains, it pours boys and girls; you'll soon see what I mean; enjoy**

**Chapter 12**

Rachel hated Nadia. Mercedes tolerated her with a decent sense of humor. The boys drooled over her. Kurt worshiped her. She could match Blaine's boundless energy, then suddenly be content to snuggle quietly at Kurt's side, her head on his shoulder to read a copy of _Vanity Fair_. The three had become "thick as thieves" (an expression Blaine and Nadia had laughed over while Kurt was left to wonder absently, yet again, what the hell they were talking about). But still, he enjoyed his alone time with Blaine.

"We bought you an entire wardrobe last month; why is that the only thing you ever wear?" Kurt pulled his own shirt over his head as he regarded Blaine with disapproval.

"It's a white t-shirt." Blaine looked down at it then back to Kurt with confusion. "What's wrong with it?"

"Which part of entirely new wardrobe did you miss?" Kurt rolled onto his stomach and regarded Blaine's basement. "I just don't understand why you insist on never trying anything new."

"I love trying new things. Isn't that what we were just doing?" Blaine leaned over and kissed Kurt before questing around the basement for his shorts.

"Maybe you could try some new things with more clothing." Kurt peered over the back of the couch where Blaine was still on the hunt for his lost pants.

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Sounds kinky."

"Doubtful." Kurt spied Blaine's shorts on the steps, "And you're cold in the pants hunt."

Blaine straightened up and wandered toward the display case of trophies, he looked questioningly at Kurt. "Warmer?"

"Colder." Kurt shook his head.

Blaine wandered from place to place- the pool table, the storage room, and finally back toward where Kurt was reclined on the couch. A rumble of thunder could be heard from outside. "Getting warmer."

"Warmer than the pool table or warmer than the bathroom?" Blaine glanced up toward the ceiling when another crack of thunder sounded.

"Warmer in general." Kurt shrugged, growing tired of the game.

Blaine took another couple steps toward him. "Now?"

"Shuffling five inches has made you warmer." Kurt rolled his eyes.

Blaine grinned and crossed the space between them. He stretched out on top of Kurt, hitching a finger in one of his belt loops. "Warmer?"

"Steaming." Kurt smirked, pressing his mouth to Blaine's neck.

Tucker barked somewhere upstairs. His nails clicking on the wooden floor as he scampered across the kitchen.

"Thunder makes him nervous." Blaine murmured when Kurt paused in his kisses to listen.

But Tucker kept barking long after the rumble of thunder had subsided. Blaine sat up, tilting his head to listen.

Kurt pulled himself up too, smoothing the hair on the back of his head. "Is someone here?"

"Dunno; I'll check." Blaine pulled himself up off the couch and walked toward the stairs. He looked over his shoulder to grin at Kurt when he spied his jeans.

"Hotter." Kurt shrugged and smiled.

Blaine pulled his feet through them, still hopping to get them all the way on as he made his way up the steps, shouting for Tucker to shut up.

Kurt listened, but the only sound came from the dull pound of rain and hail outside and the soft murmur of the air conditioning flowing through the vents.

Tucker pounded down the stairs, stopping at the landing to turn and wag his tale at whoever was following him.

"Who was it?" Kurt called, inspecting his cuticles with disinterest. He could hear soft voices approaching from the top of the steps. A moment later, Blaine appeared with one arm tucked around Nadia's shoulders.

"Oh, hey, N." Kurt glanced up, but frowned. Nadia was pale, her hair damp from the outdoors, and her make up half-gone. "What's going on?"

Blaine guided Nadia over to the couch and coaxed her into sitting down beside Kurt. "I'll get you a glass of water."

Nadia tucked her feet up under her and crossed her arms around her middle. She didn't smile. "Hey, K."

"What's wrong; you look like you've been crying." Kurt pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and tucked it around her shoulders. She leaned into his shoulder and shook her head.

"Bad day." She mumbled.

Blaine reappeared, kneeling in front of her and offering her the promised glass.

She took a long drink from it before handing it back to him. He sat it on the side table, but said nothing. He and Nadia stared at one another in silence for so long, Kurt—despite being used to the silent conversations after weeks of watching them occur from time to time- started to feel uncomfortable.

"Do you two need a minute?" Kurt finally broke the silence, his voice sounding too loud.

Nadia shook her head slowly, but her eyes were still on Blaine.

"You're all right?" Blaine finally said.

"I'll be fine." Nadia lifted her head from Kurt's shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. "Sorry about this."

"Don't be. I'm not even really sure what _this_ is." Kurt glanced between the other two.

"Bullshit, that's what it is." Nadia grumbled, running a hand through her wet hair in a lame attempt to get the tangles out.

"Bullshit." Blaine agreed, still sitting cross-legged in front of the couch.

"Horse shit." Nadia retorted.

"Chicken shit." Blaine said grimly.

The two looked at each other and smiled, speaking at the same time. "Just shit."

Kurt shook his head. If he were to write down every instance he didn't understand Blaine and Nadia, it would be a novel.

"Hand me my bag, would you, B?" Nadia motioned a hand toward her oversized gold Coach by the steps.

Blaine delivered it to her and she started rifling through its contents. "Your parents coming home anytime soon?"

"There's only ever one answer to that." Blaine got to his feet and went over to the bar to dig through drawers. "Of course not."

"Ugh, you are so lucky." Nadia glanced up from her quest to glance at Kurt. "Shit, I didn't interrupt anything did I?"

"No, you're timing was impeccable." Kurt smiled, glancing down into her bag to see what she might be searching for before looking across the room to where Blaine was opening cupboards. "Did I miss the memo about a scavenger hunt?"

"Nope, we're good." Blaine stood on tiptoe to pull something from the top of the fridge.

"Golden." Nadia agreed pulling something from her bag. She kneeled on the floor in front of the coffee table, hunched over her find.

Kurt smelled something vaguely familiar, and when he leaned forward to scrutinize Nadia's project, the scent became _very_ familiar. "Is that…Is that marijuana?"

Nadia bobbed her head up and down, "pot, weed, grass, Mary J, whatever you prefer. I bought it in Lima last time I came to visit you from some creep who used to work at McKinley."

"Sandy Ryerson? You bought marijuana from Sandy Ryerson?" Kurt stared at her incredulously.

"Mhm, Puck told me about him." Nadia was scrutinizing her work with intensity. "Hey, is he still seeing that Lauren chick?"

"I don't know what's more disturbing. The fact that you've morphed into a stoner in front of my eyes or the fact that you're interested in _Noah_ _Puckerman_." Kurt looked up to Blaine who was standing on the other side of the table, watching Nadia work. "Please say something about all of this."

Blaine smiled and shrugged. "Puck's an okay guy."

"Hopeless." Kurt grumbled.

Blaine ignored him, his eyes focused on Nadia's trembling fingers that couldn't quite coordinate rolling the paper. He knelt down and swatted her hands away.

"Thanks." Nadia tucked her shaking hands into her lap before looking over her shoulder at Kurt. "And to the previous comment, smoking the occasional bowl does not equate to someone being a stoner."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Blaine who was rolling the joint with easy precision. "I take it you've done this before then."

Blaine glanced up briefly, shrugging with one shoulder.

"Are you saying you haven't?" Nadia scrutinized Kurt's face.

"Of course not." Kurt snapped.

"Oh, K, this is gonna be so good for you." Nadia laughed for the first time since entering the house.

"I am not smoking that." Kurt stated flatly.

"Sure you are. Trust me, it's going to be wonderful. When have I ever given you bad advice?"

Blaine and Kurt exchanged a look.

Nadia looked between them and then giggled. "Oh, that… "

"Oh, that." Kurt mimicked before scowling. "I will not have a second 'oh, that' experience. I had a limp for a week."

"One time incident and it was your own fault for not having a better sense of balance." Nadia opened and closed her hands in front of her like a child awaiting a Christmas gift toward Blaine, "Seriously, K, it will mellow you out. Tell him, B."

Blaine gave his handiwork to Nadia and fished out his find from the top of the fridge—a lighter. "Can't hurt to try, Kurt."

"Come on, K, I _need_ this right now." Nadia glanced at Blaine. "Seriously."

"Seriously." Blaine agreed, nodding at her.

Kurt lowered himself slowly to the floor. "Fine. What do I do?"

Nadia took a long hit, closing her eyes for a moment before exhaling and starting in on a verbal tutorial for Kurt.

He choked on the smoke and refused to attempt a second hit before passing it off to Blaine. "Awful. Just awful."

Blaine sucked in the smoke and made a face at Nadia as he let it out. "He's right, you know, N, this stuff is shit. I'm out; I'm doing all right with a clear head these days anyway."

Nadia took the joint back from him without protest, and pinched Kurt's cheek. "Clear head, my ass. You're as love drunk as a guy can get off this little lemon drop."

Kurt made a face at her. "What, and you're not high purely off my presence?"

Nadia snorted and took another hit. "I think I've gotten drunk off so many pretty faces, baby, that my tolerance has hit a point that I just don't get off the way I used to."

"Aw, come on, N." Blaine rested his chin on his knees. "Maybe you just need to find some better guys."

"Preach." Nadia waved the blunt in the air toward Blaine.

"I'm serious, Nadia; it couldn't hurt to try out a nice guy." Blaine shrugged and smiled briefly at Kurt.

Nadia leaned on Kurt's shoulder. "Be mine, Valentine?"

"Not _my_ nice guy." Blaine chuckled, plucking the remainder of the joint from between her fingers. He dropped it into the bar sink despite her pouting. "Sam's single, isn't he, Kurt? He's an all right guy."

"Yeah, not the brightest, but he's got his own sort of bottle-bleached hair charm."

Nadia shrugged and was silent for a moment.

"I can give him a call and put in a good word, N." Kurt teased when the girl beside him remained mute for a few minutes longer.

"A worthless slut," She announced, her voice slightly raspy with smoke. "He called me a worthless slut."

Kurt turned his head to look at Nadia in shock, "Sam?"

"You're not worthless, N." Blaine murmured from the other side of the table. He caught Kurt's eye and shook his head that no, Sam had not been the perpetrator.

Nadia giggled. "But I am a slut, huh?"

"More like a really terrible tease." Kurt suggested, relieved that someone from McKinley was not responsible for attacking his new friend.

"We can't help if people turn to stare, though, can we, K?" Nadia smiled vacantly at him.

"No, I suppose not." Kurt was confused, but he went along with her all the same. It was best to just let Nadia unravel until she decided to pull things back together.

"Bastard." Nadia mumbled. "His fault I'm this way anyway."

"Daddy issues." Blaine agreed.

"Your _dad_ called you that?" Kurt frowned.

"Daddy calls me all sorts of things." Nadia said bitterly. She sat up straighter and looked toward Blaine, shaking her fist and lowering her voice to a man's octave. "Stupid bitch."

Blaine sat up higher too and pointed accusingly at her. "Pathetic excuse for a son."

"Dumb cunt." Nadia shot back.

"Egocentric, self-absorbed brat."

"That's redundant." Nadia pointed out in her own voice, before sighing. "Whore."

"Faggot." Blaine replied just as calmly.

"I let a lot of the shit you two get into just go over my head, but this is too much." Kurt looked between the two in alarm. His stomach hurt.

"It's like I said, K, pretty little girls with daddy issues." Nadia smiled sadly at Blaine. "How is the old man these days, Honey Bee?"

"He's fine." Blaine shrugged. "Not around much."

Nadia sighed. "That's good… well… better."

"Better." Blaine agreed. "Other than today, have things been…"

"He's out of work again right now; it's shitty. Whatever, he'll get another job and clean up for a month or two." Nadia shrugged.

Kurt felt like he was in the middle of something he had no right to be a part of. The thought of his own father- the man who had given him the extra money to make the drive to New Albany that morning so he could visit his _boyfriend_—the boyfriend who apparently had issues with his own father Kurt hadn't even known existed. He was claustrophobic despite the large space; he felt like he couldn't breathe.

It was as if Blaine had read his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck briefly and sighed. "Sorry, Kurt, this is a lot to be dumping on you, me and my dad aren't all that bad, we-"

"—Why do you do that, B?" Nadia cut him off, frowning.

"Do what?"

Nadia motioned a hand at Kurt. "Shut him out like that. Yeah, it's a lot, but he deserves to know what goes on with you, doesn't he?"

"It's not like that, Nadia." Blaine looked from her to his confused boyfriend. "It's not like it was when were kids. My dad and I, we don't see eye to eye, but he doesn't say the shit he used to say to me. I don't want you to get the wrong impression, Kurt."

"No, Blaine, you just freak at the possibility that something might be outside your control." Nadia seemed suddenly sobered in her irritation. "So what, Kurt sees a little divot in the shiny, new Blaine. Would that be so bad?"

"God dammit, Nadia, you're making this so much more complicated-"

"No, B, _you_ are making this more complicated. Kurt's not stupid; he knows shit goes on in your life like anyone else's. It's not hard to let people in from time to time, especially when they love you as much as he does. Watch, I'll show you."

Nadia turned her attention back to Kurt. "Ready?"

Kurt was bewildered. Things were happening too quickly. "Um, yes?"

"My daddy," Nadia flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Loves scotch. More than his job, more than his wife, and more than me. He loves scotch so much that it makes him hate everything else."

"Nadia." Blaine sighed, looking tired.

Nadia ignored him; she picked up her water glass from the table. "Sometimes, he sits down in his chair with his drink and he gets to thinking. I think he and scotch talk to each other.

"Scotch, here' s the thing; all of this," Nadia gave her cup a confiding look as she waved a hand around the room. "It's shit. My house, my job, my wife, my kid. Especially the kid. I am going to let that little girl know exactly how I feel."

Nadia turned her attention to Blaine who was frowning up at her, she glowered at him. "You think I don't know what you do, you stupid tramp? Just like your mother, that's what you are. Useless bitch. Damn trash. Steal the money right out of my pocket to go out on the town with a bunch of punk ass white trash. Worthless whore."

"You're _not_ worthless, N." Blaine shook his head, rising to his feet, "Misguided, mistreated, misunderstood, but never worthless."

"I've needed you, B." Nadia sighed, forgetting her anger. She let Blaine fold her into a hug.

Kurt wanted to run from that room. Rewind from that moment. He wanted away from it now. Instead, he sat in his place on the floor, trying to let it sink in.

"Jesus, Kurt, you look ready to puke." Nadia untangled herself from Blaine to sit down in front of the other boy. "Too heavy?"

"Very, very heavy." Kurt managed to mumble.

"I'm sorry to drop it all on you." Nadia reached out to hold one of his hands between both of hers. "But I meant what I said. I trust you enough to let you in."

Kurt glanced up at Blaine who had remained standing, his hands in his pockets. He looked back to Nadia. "I'm… I'm glad you told me."

"And you're not going anywhere just because I'm a fucked up kid, are you?" Nadia didn't look at Blaine, but he stared at the back of her head, clearly having heard her message to him.

"I thought you were a pretty girl with daddy issues," Kurt smiled momentarily then squeezed her hand. "Of course I'm not going anywhere."

Kurt didn't turn his face away when she kissed him full on the mouth. She smiled and sat back on her heels. "Blaine says your dad's a good guy; your brother seems like a sweetie, so I bet your dad's lovely."

"He is… more than good; he's amazing." Kurt suddenly felt near tears thinking about his good fortune in such a wonderful father, he didn't correct the confusion over Finn being his stepsibling. "I think he'd like you…if you wore some more clothes."

Nadia looked down at her spandex shorts and camisole and shrugged. "I'll take it into consideration. I want to dye my hair a new color before I change anything else though. What do you think about black?"

"I think it would look trashy and it would clash with your feathers." Kurt replied.

They settled into comfortable conversation until the grandfather clock chimed loudly that it was ten. Kurt had promised his father he would be home no later than midnight.

"I'm supposed to be in Columbus in an hour and Ally's house fifteen minutes ago. Oops." Nadia dug her phone out of her purse and grimaced. "She is so effing pissed. Do not tell her I was here, B; she'll kill me for blowing her off."

"Right, I'll make sure to not let that slip next time we're out for one of our biweekly coffee dates." Blaine rolled his eyes.

Nadia laughed, apparently delighted. "Oh my God, I totally forgot for a second we didn't still go to school together. Just like old times, Honey Bee."

Blaine offered a hand to Kurt to pull him to his feet. He squeezed his hand briefly. "Almost."

"Can you drive like this?" Kurt studied Nadia's slightly red eyes.

"Duh." She started up the steps, pulling her keys from her bag on only the second try. When they reached the door, she turned around and wrapped her arms around Blaine tightly.

"You sure you're all right for the night?" Blaine tilted her chin up so their eyes could meet. "My parents are at that gala thing, they wouldn't notice if you just decided to crash here for the night."

Nadia smiled and wrinkled her nose. "Tempting, but Ally will seriously flip if I ditch out. Besides, I've got to go use daddy's money to meet some punk ass white trash at the clubs, too. Wouldn't want to disappoint."

Blaine grimaced, "Nadia-"

"Oh, relax, B, I'm joking." Nadia smacked a hand across his chest. " I made it two whole years without you breathing down my neck to be careful, and we're both big kids now."

"Suit yourself." Blaine smiled unwillingly. "Be careful though, huh?"

"Yes, sir." Nadia kissed him and turned to Kurt. "Thanks for taking this whole mess like a good little soldier, K."

"Of course." Kurt turned his face so she could kiss his cheek. "Call me if you need anything—I'll be on the road for at least the next two hours."

"Will do…. Thanks again for being so cool about my mess. I knew you could handle it though." She glanced pointedly at Blaine before running out into the rain. Blaine and Kurt stood on the front porch until her headlights disappeared down the street.

"I suppose you have to be shoving off too." Blaine smiled sadly from where he stood, his elbows propped on the railing. "This rain's probably gonna make you a little late for curfew."

"My dad will understand." Kurt shrugged. He folded his hands on the rail beside Blaine and tried to form his thoughts. "Before I go…"

Blaine glanced toward him, a look on his face that said he already knew what Kurt was going to say. "Kurt, we've been through this."

"She's right you know." Kurt replied softly, not ready to give into his frustrations just yet.

"Nadia wears every feeling on her sleeve, Kurt. Her problems aren't a secret to anyone, it just so happens I- well, we- get to see the immediate aftermath a bit more than other people."

"I'm not asking you to tell the whole world anything. Just me." Kurt touched a hand to Blaine's.

Blaine studied his face for a moment before sighing. "Kurt, there is a _reason _I didn't spill all Nadia's stuff out on the floor right after we ran into her at the coffee shop, there is a _reason _the two of us just get each other, and it's the same reason I don't always tell you things…I just…. I've got that part of my life with all the crap and the mess and the dark. And then I've got you. I don't want to mix those things, Kurt."

"Nadia mixed things and I don't see any nasty side effects." Kurt retorted.

"Nadia is your friend of all of three or four weeks, Kurt. I've known her a long time… Except for when she dances, her entire life is one big mess of a bad drug cocktail. I'm glad to have her back, and I'm glad you've grown to love her so much, but I can't live my life the same way she does."

"You have to let things get a little messy from time to time, Blaine. I'm sick of you treating me like I won't be able to handle it—I get it, okay? I don't have you and Nadia's big nasty past and I've done a lot of crying over paper cuts compared to the crap you keep behind closed doors, and I feel like an ass about it-"

Blaine was shaking his head. "Kurt, I _like_ that Karofsky is the worst that's happened to you, I like that the biggest obstacle in you and your dad's relationship is a little awkwardness, I like that your friends are so perfectly ordinary. It's what I like about _you_ Kurt."

"Gee thanks, I've always wanted to be admired for the complete mundaneness of my life." Kurt pulled his keys from his pocket, but paused on the steps. ""I'm not a pretty doll that you get to just put up on a shelf away from all the other toys, Blaine. We're a couple- as in two halves of a whole thing. I love you, but eventually you're going to have to take me down off the shelf or this is never going to work. We can't just stare at each other on opposite sides of a glass wall."

Blaine remained where he was, regarding Kurt with so much weariness that Kurt was almost tempted to take it back.

Instead he kissed the other boy on the cheek briefly. "I'll call you when I get home."

"Drive safe." Blaine mumbled.

The rain had abated some, but Kurt darted for his car nonetheless. When he turned the key in the ignition, he looked up at Blaine in the glow of his headlights. Blaine smiled half-heartedly and raised a hand in goodbye.

"He's not going to tell me anything." Kurt murmured to himself, waving back as he pulled out of the driveway. He left the neighborhood, but didn't immediately turn left to go to the on ramp toward home. Instead he turned right, circling around the backside of the park. He followed the winding road between the trees until he found the parking lot on the opposite side of the park from Blaine's house. He stopped and stared into the wet, black-green foliage.

He had never thought to curse the lack of misfortune in his life—he'd always been convinced he's experienced plenty—but as he thought about Nadia and Blaine, he despised himself. Blaine wouldn't let him in because he was too weak, too fragile.

He pounded his hands on the edge of the steering wheel and let out a scream of frustration before dropping his forehead down onto the top of the wheel. He listened in silence to the CD playing on his stereo, the hum of the engine, and the drips that fell from the leaves above onto the roof of his car. Finally he lifted his head and moved to pull the car into reverse, but suddenly realized his car wasn't the only one in the little lot. A red pick up was parked two spots away, its headlights were off, but light came from inside the cab. Kurt recognized the passengers and felt a thrill go down his spine.

Max took a drink from a can, regarding Kurt coolly from the backseat window. Eric smiled and waved from the passenger's seat. Kurt wondered absently if they'd been there the whole time or if they'd pulled up during his silent reverie.

Eric rolled down his window and leaned on the ledge beckoning for Kurt to lower his.

_I should just go. _Kurt's hand was still on the gearshift. He shoved it back into park and lowered his window.

"Well, Kurt, fancy running into you out here at this time of night. Where's Blaine?" Eric squinted toward the passenger seat.

"Home." Kurt replied. _Where I should be headed right now. _

"Shame. The dumb kid never even called me after our little rendezvous earlier this summer. Breaks my heart." Eric climbed out of the car, but didn't approach Kurt; he leaned against the hood of the pick up. The others soon followed, ducklings lined up against the truck beside him.

Kurt shrugged. His conscience was screaming at him. _Go home. Go home now. _

"No reason _you_ couldn't stick around for a few beers though, Kurt." Chris called, holding up a grey box.

"No, thank you." Kurt glanced over the others briefly, his fingers moving back toward the gearshift. He'd had enough for one night.

"You're as boring as your boyfriend, Kurt." Eric whined.

His hand froze; he stared out the window again at Eric. "What do you have against him?"

Eric's eyebrows went up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why are you so set on tormenting him?"

The other three looked toward their leader. Eric took a few steps forward, but stopped a few feet shy of Kurt's car. "Tormenting? We had a ball, Blaine-y and I, a real good time in our interactions."

Kurt stared hard at him; ignoring his amiable response. "Why _him_?"

"I don't know what to tell you, pal; maybe I've got a thing for skittish gay kids." Eric smirked. " But that's not true at all. Can I be honest with you?"

Kurt jerked his head down once and waited.

"It's that _look_ he gets. You know the one—his 'pretty, pretty please just let me go' face. It turned into more of a challenge to get him to look at me that way over time, but we made it work out. God, that face just got me every time… I hope I get to see it again sometime soon." Eric laughed contentedly to himself.

Kurt wasn't sure how it happened. One second he was seated in the safety of his car, then the next his body was colliding against Eric's, his fists flailing to land a hit anywhere. His ears rang with adrenaline and then with the impact of a blow to the side of his head.

He'd never been beaten up, he realized vacantly. He'd bruised his shoulders on locker banks, twisted an ankle climbing out of a dumpster a time or two, but no one had ever actually hit him. And now, as blows fell upon him from all directions, he wondered if it got less painful if you were used to it. When he hurt so much that he couldn't differentiate the pain in his chest from the pain in his feet, he was sure it had to be over, but it wasn't. They kept hitting him until time was no longer something he was aware of other than a mild panic that the beating would never stop. He tried to grab onto any coherent thought.

_Wet_. It was wet and the rain was falling again, and he suddenly realized he was alone. When had that happened? _Think, _a voice ordered him from somewhere deep in his muddled cortex, _you need to get a hold on something._

He tried to remember where he was, what he was doing there, but all his screaming neurons would grab onto over and over again was the fact that he hurt. He hurt more than he had ever hurt. He needed a distraction from that relentless torture. The smell of pavement when it rained, yes, he'd try for that. He tried to take in a deep breath through his nose, but his ribs screamed out in protest and all he could smell was blood. Wet, warm and metallic.

His eyes found the glow of his headlights and his car door that still hung open. His mind latched onto something_. The park_. He was at the park in New Albany. Blaine was in New Albany.

_Call Blaine! _The voice sounded even more muddled but it screamed out to Kurt all the same. Yes, Blaine would know what to do; he'd fix this, but where was his phone? He gasped at the blindingness of the hurt when he tried to feel for the familiar shape in his pocket. Nothing. It was still in the car. He had to get to his car.

He worked with his bewildered brain to find the right circuitry to command his feet into action, a task that was proving terrifyingly difficult. He had to be satisfied with getting one foot to push him forward a few inches at a time, but then there was the problem of coordinating his arms to get out of the way and it all _hurt_ so much. The voice panicked briefly. _I'm going to die. I'm going to die here._

A dull wave of adrenaline afforded him enough energy to close the gap between he and the open door. He dropped his head back to the asphalt, panting with the white-hot agony of his broken body and loss of the final reserves of his energy. With a dull last pang of terror, he realized he didn't have enough left in him to make it the distance between himself and the front seat- it was too high; it was too much. He lifted a hand to touch the footstep but let it fall back down to the pavement again. He pushed himself onto his back and let the rain beat down on his face- it's tiny blows a sad, little echo of the one's he'd received earlier. He could hear music still coming from his car. He closed his eyes against the water and listened. Listened to the sound of the rain, the music, and his own beating heart. The rain abated, his car battery must have died or the CD ended after awhile because that too disappeared.

And then there was nothing.


	14. Chapter 13

A/N: Thanks for the patience; without further ado, here is chapter 13 :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Blaine lay in his bed, watching the ceiling fan. He tried tracking one blade to count its rotations, but somewhere around sixty-three he felt dizzy. He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing a hand along Tucker's back that was pressed against his side. When he felt himself drifting off he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Tucker didn't budge from his spot; he opened his eyes lazily to watch his master.

Blaine plucked his watch from the nightstand to scrutinize its face. 5:24. He looked down at Tuck. "Do people wake up at 5:24 on Thursday mornings; like, is that socially acceptable?"

Tucker stretched a little, but otherwise didn't move.

"Runners. Runners get up earlier than this." Blaine nodded reassuringly to himself and climbed out of bed. He could be a runner for the day. He lay down on his stomach on the floor to study the boxes underneath and couldn't help but smile. Kurt had organized them by occasion: dress shoe boxes on the left, casual in the middle, and…yes, there they were, his running shoes. He pulled out the box and dropped it on top of his bed before searching out something to where. Kurt had organized that, too (twice now), but Blaine found it troublesome to manage the clothing system. Why would he bother searching out the exact spot to re-hang a shirt when he could just hang it in with all the rest without a second thought?

Kurt. That reminded him; Kurt had never called to say he made it home. He never even responded to Blaine's check in text around four. Blaine checked his phone again to ensure he hadn't some how missed it—after all, it was entirely possible he drifted off for a few minutes during the night. Whether he had napped unknowingly or not, there was definitely no missed calls or unnoticed texts. Blaine let a long breath out his nose; Kurt was pissed, and with good reason.

"Tell you something." Blaine mumbled to himself, shaking his head. He looked over his shoulder toward his dog as he sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. "Tell him _what_?"

Tuck wagged his tail a few times.

Blaine finished lacing his shoes and dropped onto his back beside the big lab. "Why can't I just keep wagging my tail and looking cute too, huh?"

Tucker wagged his tail again.

Blaine smiled to himself and got off the bed, turning in the doorway when Tucker didn't chase after him. He let out a short whistle. "Wanna go for a walk, boy?"

Tucker tangled himself in the sheets attempting to scramble out of the bed, and ended up dropping to the floor with all of the bedding before flying out the door past Blaine and down the steps. Blaine rolled his eyes, dropped the heap of sheets and blankets back on the bed to deal with later, and walked at a more leisurely pace toward the steps. He glanced at his parent's bedroom door—still closed. When he arrived at the door where Tucker was waiting he had to shush him repeatedly while he put on his leash.

Once out the door, Tucker took off, Blaine sprinting after him and finally having to dig his heels into the pavement to stop the damn dog. "Chill out, Bud, we've got time, and I can't keep that pace up for more than maybe thirty seconds."

It took a little pulling on the leash, a few curse words, and one harsh 'bad dog', but eventually Tucker fell into an even lope beside his owner. Blaine was shocked by the heat that already warmed the back of his neck—no wonder runners woke up so early. In broad daylight it would be excruciating. Then again, most runners probably opted to run in the park where the tree cover was denser and the heat of cars racing by every few seconds wasn't a problem. There was no way in hell Blaine was going anywhere near that damn park. His irritation spiked his adrenaline and-much to Tucker's delight- he sped up.

If they hadn't gone on that walk, none of it would have happened. He wouldn't be having nightmares every time he slept for over an hour like a five year-old with monsters in the closet, he wouldn't have been reminded of how close it all still was, and Kurt wouldn't have seen him crumble. That was the worst part. He could handle the lack of sleep and avoiding the memories—a lot of coffee and a busy schedule were easy enough things to come by—but Kurt. He couldn't undo that. He couldn't stop all of those stupid questions.

He loved that Kurt was a bitch, to be honest. Loved the way the soprano gave him withering looks every time his shoes didn't match his outfit, the way he slapped his hand away when Blaine tried to look through the skincare bottles on his vanity, loved that once Kurt decided he needed something he would be as conniving, coy, or cunning as he felt necessary to get precisely what he wanted. Unfortunately that last little trait was becoming a problem. His words from that night on the deck plagued him as badly as any nightmare, and now every time he looked at Kurt he could see them. _Tell me something._

Blaine pushed forward faster, wanting to leave the memory behind him. Soon his mind was filled with nothing but his own breathing and his feet moving. He watched the cars that sped by in the road beside him— a blue blur, a yellow one, a semi truck, the red and blue flash of ambulance lights and the wail of a siren, a motorcycle…maybe not as serene as a run in the park, but entertaining all the same. By the time he arrived home, the sun was a little too hot on his back, but he felt better. He made a mental note to run more often as he went into the welcome relief of the air conditioning.

"You're up early."

Blaine looked up from where he was pulling off his shoes. His father stood in the kitchen doorway, already in his suit for the day and a mug of coffee in one hand. Blaine pulled off his remaining shoe, nodding. "Went for a run."

His father nodded slowly. "Good. That's good."

Blaine stood where he was for a moment, searching for something to say; his mother rescued him by coming down the stairs, still pushing an earring in, but otherwise fully dressed. "Good morning, Sweetheart; what are you doing up so early?"

"Blaine's taken up running." His father responded for him.

Blaine nodded in confirmation. He wasn't sure if a spontaneous jog around town counted as "taking up running", but it was usually best to go along with his father.

"That's wonderful, dear."

"How was the gala?" Blaine asked, patting his leg for Tucker to come back to his side when he returned from getting a drink in the laundry room.

"Oh, it was very nice. You know, I was talking with Suzan Oakes—she does event development at the country club; you've met her before—and she was thinking it would be nice if you could sing at a few functions. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"He's already got a job, Shannon." His father glanced down at his watch. "What time do you work?"

"Eight. I should probably go shower." He glanced to his mother. "If I have time I'll think about it. Thanks, Mom."

He jogged up the stairs and glanced at the clock. Seven. Had he really been gone that long? He showered quickly and toweled off his hair at the same time as pulling out his uniform. Kurt was right; wearing the heavy thing all summer really was a drag. Remembering Kurt, he paused in his dash to get ready for work to check his phone—Kurt would be awake by now. Nothing. Blaine sighed, dropping the phone down and getting ready just a little slower. Kurt was _definitely_ pissed.

He jogged down the stairs once he was dressed and went to the kitchen where his parents both sat at the table. "Any coffee left?"

His dad motioned a hand toward the pot to indicate he should check for himself. Blaine pulled it out and was pleased to find enough to fill his thermos.

"Can I make you some breakfast before you go?" His mother asked from her place at the table.

"He's seventeen years old, Shannon, he can feed himself." His father glanced over Blaine. "Straighten your tie before you go."

Blaine glanced down at it as he filled his travel mug, and then looked to his mother. "I appreciate it, Mom, but I should go before I'm late."

"Blaine." His mother gave him a pointed look. "Eat something."

He pulled a granola bar out of the cupboard and waved it in the air for her to see. "Does this count?"

"Yes." His mother smiled, rising from her chair, " Now come give me a kiss goodbye."

His father grumbled, "Shannon-"

"You do not get to tell me he's seventeen years old, so he doesn't have to kiss his mother anymore." She put a hand on her hip and shot her husband a glare before walking over to Blaine. "Don't you ever let anyone tell you boys get too old to kiss their mothers."

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled, kissed her on the cheek and made for the door.

"Blaine." His father called.

Blaine stopped, waiting.

"Your tie."

Blaine straightened it and when his father turned his attention back to the business section he decided that was his cue to go. He jogged out to his car and turned over the ignition, his eyes focused on the clock display. 7:38. He'd be right on time as always. He turned on the radio, blanching at the morning shows that never played enough music for his taste, and switched to his CD player. It was one Kurt had made for him. Instinctively he reached in his pocket to check his phone; if he hadn't called yet, maybe he could call him on the drive over to make plans to talk. They weren't supposed to meet up again until Saturday, but if Kurt was really that upset about the previous night, it might be worth the drive to Lima to smooth things over.

His phone wasn't in his pocket. He mentally cursed himself when he remembered dropping it down on his bed while he got ready. The call would just have to wait.

Blaine decided runs were definitely a good thing—his whole day felt a little brighter. He did the backward walk and talk routine three times that morning, and when he mentioned being a member of the Warblers to the third group; they had insisted he sing them something. He'd done so with a little less bravado than usual (feeling awkward with the sound of his voice so totally alone), but the group had cheered nonetheless. He was asked to do the same for his fourth group by a mother who had heard about the impromptu performance from someone in the previous pack, and so they day continued—a grapevine of rumors making him come up with something new for each group.

Blaine left work happy- Kurt would have to at least forgive him enough to say, "I told you so" regarding the singing tour guide routine. His joy only increased when he saw the little white Mazda 3 pulled up alongside his car. He leaned on the top of the car to look down into the driver's window.

He checked his watch and raised an eyebrow. "Out of bed before three; impressive."

"Shut up, I'm a better morning person than you are. And why the hell haven't you been answering your phone?" She smiled, but her eyes were tired.

"Forgot it at home." Blaine shrugged.

"You would forget it today," she muttered to herself before looking back at him. "Go drop your car off at home; I'll meet you there."

"Jeez, someone's feeling authoritative." Blaine rolled his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking about driving out to Lima. I think Kurt's pissed with me."

"We'll go see him, just go drop your car off." Nadia started to roll up her window, apparently deciding her decision was final.

"I was thinking this should be more of a just me and him thing, N." Blaine called before the glass could close.

"Blaine, for once, just do what I'm asking you to do." Nadia didn't just look tired; she looked exhausted.

He studied her through the glass—looking for the usual signs that something was wrong at home. No tears, no bruises, but she _was_ avoiding his eyes. He knocked on the glass softly until she rolled it back down. "Are you okay?"

"Blaine, please." Nadia looked up at him briefly then away again.

"All right, sure." He glanced at his watch. He could take care of Nadia and drive out to Lima that night; what was the harm in a few hours lost? It wasn't like he had to get to bed or anything- he could drive back to New Albany late.

When he pulled into the garage, Nadia pulled up right behind him. "Hurry it up."

"Relax, would you? I'm gonna let the dog out and grab my phone. You wanna come in for a bit?"

Nadia sighed and climbed out of her car, "No, I want to get going."

Blaine paused to scrutinize her again. Something was off, and not in the usual way. "Are you sure-"

"Go deal with your dog, B." Nadia waved a hand toward the house and leaned on her car to wait.

Arguing with Nadia was as bad as arguing with Kurt. If one of them made up their minds about something, it was best to just ride it out. Blaine let Tucker bolt past him into the front lawn while he went upstairs to search out his forgotten cell. When he found it- buried deep in the tangle of his sheets- he brought the little screen to life and felt a pang of surprise. Nine missed calls and four texts. He scrolled through the calls first- three from Finn, three from Nadia, two from Rachel, and one from his mother. He checked the texts.

'_Call me when you get this –Finn'_

'_Where are you? –Rachel'_

'_Blaine pick up your phone –N'_

'_Seriously B wtf. CALL ME.'_

He changed out of his uniform into cargo shorts and a black polo- something Kurt would approve of more than his white t-shirt- and slipped his phone into his pocket, adding calling back his mother, Rachel, and Finn to his to do list. Maybe he could do it on the drive to Lima…that would work. He wondered absently why Finn would need his attention—sure, he was dating his brother, but the two weren't exactly close. He whistled for Tucker to come back in before locking the door and joining Nadia in her car.

"You take forever." She said pointedly, pulling out of the neighborhood a little too fast.

"I wasn't gonna stay in my Dalton uniform when it's a hundred degrees out." Blaine turned up the air conditioning and turned on the radio—a strange thing to have to do in Nadia's car; she always had music playing. He studied her profile for a minute, but didn't say anything. She'd come out with whatever was eating at her on her own eventually.

"Find your phone?" She queried after a few more blocks.

"Yeah; Finn called me like three times. Kurt didn't call once." Blaine rested the back of his head on the window, twisting sideway so he could face Nadia.

"When was the last time you talked to him?" Her voice was careful.

"Right after you left. We sort of got into a fight because apparently I'm not as open as some of his other friends, _N_." Blaine gave her a sour look.

She ignored the jab. "He didn't call you at all after that?"

Blaine shook his head. "That's why I have to go over to Lima. I don't want to leave things like this until Saturday. I can't deal with thinking he's upset with me for that long."

Nadia braked at a stoplight and turned her eyes toward Blaine. "Can you do something for me, Honey Bee?"

"Sure; anything." Blaine sat up a little higher.

Nadia took in a long breath and held it. When the light turned green, she let it out in a shaky wave. "Promise me, if I tell you something, you'll stay calm."

Blaine tried to read her, but all he could come up with was that something was very, very wrong. "Yeah, sure…. okay."

Nadia swallowed once, when her voice came out it was soft; careful. "You and I are going to the hospital right now."

Blaine felt a twist of anxiety in his stomach. "Is it your dad? Or did he hurt your mom, or-"

Nadia was shaking her head; she had to tip her head back to quell tears that threatened to spill over. "No, Blaine."

Blaine waited; confused.

"Blaine," Nadia took another deep breath to steady herself, "Finn Hudson called me this morning. His family got a call a little before seven from the hospital, they… they had identified Kurt from his driver's license. He's in the ICU."

Blaine stared at her uncomprehendingly; his ears rang. He moved his mouth until finally something came out. "He's a good driver."

Nadia glanced at him, "Blaine-"

"The roads were bad, but he's a good driver." Blaine was shaking his head.

"He wasn't in a car accident, B." Nadia's voice came out in a whisper.

Blaine turned off the radio; he must not have heard her right. "What?"

Nadia tilted her head back again, but this time the tears still ran over. "Finn said that a patrol car found him; he…someone attacked him, Blaine."

Blaine couldn't breath. He couldn't remember how to inhale.

"Blaine, remember what you promised." Nadia said almost urgently.

Blaine tried to draw in a breath, but his chest wouldn't let him.

"Center yourself, B; come on, like you used to." Nadia reached over to squeeze his hand hard.

He closed his eyes, trying to grab onto something sturdy in himself. How did he do it before? How did he detach from it? He listened to the sound of blood rushing behind his ears, focused on relaxing the muscles in his chest…. there. He could keep a grip on himself for a while at least.

"Better?" Nadia loosened her hold on his hand just a little.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

"Good boy." Nadia soothed, letting go of his hand.

Blaine hunched over, his forehead on his knees and his hands on his neck. He still felt dizzy.

Nadia reached over again and rubbed circles on his back. "Hush, we'll be there soon. Just relax."

Blaine relaxed momentarily beneath the familiar touch- Kurt did that to sooth nightmares, calm fears- he recoiled from her contact. He couldn't handle it just then. "Please don't."

Nadia nodded, "Okay, just keep it together for a little longer, we'll be there in a few minutes."

When they pulled into the lot, he remained frozen in his seat.

"B, we're here." Nadia coaxed.

Blaine stared out the windshield at the building in front of them. Not ready to face the reality.

Nadia got out of the car and went around to his door and pulled it open. She leaned over him and undid his seatbelt. "He'd want you in there with him, B."

For Kurt. He could get out of the car for Kurt. He followed after Nadia like a lost puppy until she finally looped a hand around his elbow to keep him in stride with her.

"I saw an ambulance this morning. When I was running." Blaine mumbled.

"It probably wasn't him, B." Nadia soothed, pulling him toward the nurses station. "We're looking for Kurt Hummel; he was admitted this morning."

"Are you family?" The nurse glanced up at her and then at Blaine. "Does he need to be seen?"

Nadia looked over at Blaine. His face was pale and his eyes moved listlessly around the room. "He'll be fine; yes, we're family. He's our cousin."

The nurse looked at her cynically then at Blaine.

"Please," Nadia looked at the nurse pleadingly. "Please."

The nurse looked to Blaine again, but he was watching a girl being wheeled toward the doors. She typed in the computer before glancing back up at Nadia. "Room I342. That's the third floor."

"Thank you." Nadia pulled at Blaine to follow her.

Blaine was sleepwalking. He hadn't been in a hospital since the week before he had gone to Dalton; it had been a quick trip. A couple x-rays, some questionnaires, and his chest wrapped for two broken ribs. He tried to remember how he'd handled it then…

"There's Finn." Nadia pointed into a small lobby just off the top of the stairs.

Finn was slouched on a bench in the corner, Rachel's head on his lap. When he saw Blaine and Nadia, he tried to rouse the girl beside him. Rachel sat up and Finn pulled her to her feet, but before they could cross the space to Blaine and Nadia, someone else had.

"Do you know anything about this?" Burt Hummel was inches from Blaine's face so quickly, Blaine didn't have time to process where he had come from.

"I-" Blaine swallowed, trying to find his words.

"That's my kid in there, you know that? My kid that was supposed to be coming home from _your_ house last night." Burt hadn't backed off.

"Burt-" Carol was beside him, a hand on his arm. He ignored her.

"He left when he was supposed to, to make curfew." Blaine managed breathlessly.

Burt stared at him hard, his eyes red and his jaw tight. "You're saying he left your house by ten last night."

"Yes, sir." Blaine cleared his throat. Why was his voice so quiet?

"A cop didn't find him until almost six this morning. He was out there- _alone_ all night." Burt's eyes welled up, but still he glared at Blaine. "That is my _kid_ in there, and someone left him for dead. If you know something about this, you tell me now."

"Burt, I don't think-" Carol tried again, looking helplessly between her husband and the small boy in front of them.

"Can I see him?" Blaine blurted out.

Burt stared hard at him. He looked like he slept less than Blaine did.

"Please, sir. Please just let me see him." Blaine looked from Burt to Carol pleadingly.

"Burt, let him go." Carol said softly.

"Not until he tells me what he knows. This didn't happen in Lima. These were not people who knew Kurt." Burt's voice cracked, "They had no reason to hate my son."

"Burt, you're upset." Carol soothed, running a hand up and down his arm. "Just because it was in New Albany doesn't mean-"

"His face." Blaine's voice surprised him as much as it did everyone else. "Did they hit him in the face?"

Burt stared hard at him, his eyes narrowed.

"The left side's a little scratched up, but otherwise it looks okay." Finn spoke up from behind his parents.

"The pavement," Blaine murmured, his stomach clenching, his head spinning, "The pavement does that."

"What are you saying, kid?" Burt growled.

Blaine was still trying to comprehend it. He'd spent the past twenty minutes trying to convince himself that it could have been someone else, anyone else responsible, but this…this made it too real.

Burt grabbed him hard by the shoulders, shaking him. "If you know who did this to my son, you're going to tell me now."

"Burt!" Carol tried to pull her husband away.

"Max Huxley, Michael Burns, Chris Conway," Blaine's voice wavered, "and Eric Marlow."

"You're sure?" Burt maintained his grip on Blaine's shoulders.

"Yes." Blaine whispered.

Burt let go of him and took a step back, his eyes brimming with tears. When he wasn't three inches from his face, Blaine could see that Burt Hummel was a broken man from what had happened to his only child. He stared back at Blaine, blinking away his tears before they could fall. "Did they know him?"

"They knew me." Blaine used all of his energy to not drop eye contact.

Burt nodded slowly. He knew what that meant. They knew Blaine was gay, they knew Blaine was with Kurt, and they'd seen a new piece of prey. His son.

"Would you like to see him?" Burt finally spoke.

"Yes, sir, if I could, sir," Blaine had to clear his throat, but otherwise he felt his voice sounded right.

Burt nodded down the hall, indicating Blaine should follow him.

"I'll wait." Nadia murmured in his ear, moving to sit with Rachel and Finn.

Blaine trailed after Burt, every step made his stomach raise higher in his chest; his heart beat louder in his ears. When they reached the door marked I342, Burt stopped and turned to look tiredly at Blaine. "The nurses tell you anything?"

Blaine shook his head.

Burt took his hat off to rub his head briefly, "It's bad."

"H-how bad?"

Burt returned his hat to his head, his eyes on the plastic number card nailed to the door. "They had him in for surgery before we even got here- something with internal bleeding-"

"Jesus." Blaine closed his eyes for a moment. _Center yourself, dammit, this isn't about you. _

Burt waited until he opened his eyes to continue. "Eight broken ribs, a broken collar bone, and a shattered ankle. His face though, like you said…it looks good. I-it looks like him."

Blaine reached out a hand to squeeze Burt's shoulder when tears slipped down his face. Burt cleared his throat and placed a hand over Blaine's for a moment. "I'm sorry for all of this, sir, I didn't ever mean for-"

"It's not your fault. You shouldn't have to apologize for being who you are. But them…" Burt shook his head. "How anyone could ever be so hateful…"

"Ignorant." Blaine said automatically, he could handle the role of comfort giver. "Ignorance at its ugliest."

"Well, let's get in there then." Burt cleared his throat again. "The doctor said he was awake for awhile when they first brought him in, but he… he hasn't been awake since. He's pretty drugged up."

Blaine nodded, and when he realized it was going to have to be him who opened the door, he made sure his hand didn't shake. He let Burt go in ahead of him before following, closing the door as quietly as possible and letting his eyes remain on the handle for a few seconds to gather himself.

He walked numbly toward the bed, but stopped a few feet away. He knew the cliché that people looked small in hospital beds, but he felt it was all wrong. Kurt didn't look small; he looked… the way people look in coffins. Yes that was it—like themselves but somehow not _right_. His face was pale beneath a clear tube laced under his nose, an IV in one arm, the sheets tucked neatly around his shoulders.

"It's all right, kid, you can come closer." Burt had seated himself beside his child, and motioned to a chair on the opposite side of the bed.

Blaine approached it tentatively, but didn't immediately sit down. Closer, he could see bandages poking out from beneath an arm of the hospital smock; he spied the abrasions across his left cheek, he reached out a hand to trace them. He still felt like he was looking at someone at a wake, but feeling that familiar skin beneath his fingers destroyed the funeral detachment. He sank down into the chair, trying to swallow down a sob that threatened to free itself from his throat.

"Why not his face?" Burt looked to Blaine, desperate for something to understand.

Blaine studied Kurt's perfect complexion, "Everyone can see it."

"Were they hoping no one would notice any of this?" Burt's voice cracked as he looked over Kurt's prone form.

Blaine wasn't sure how to answer. He looked down to the limp fingers. He lifted them gently between his own, studying the scabbed over knuckles. "He hit back."

"What's that?" Burt looked up from his son's face that he had set himself to studying for any signs of consciousness.

Blaine hadn't realized he was whispering again. He smiled weakly at Burt. "He hit back. Hard."

Burt looked over at the bloodied knuckles in Blaine's hand and smiled a little, too, "Hope he at least broke a nose or two."

Blaine put the hand back down gently as Carol and Finn joined them.

"Nadia took Rachel home." Finn mumbled, leaning against his mother.

Blaine reluctantly rose from his chair to offer it to Carol.

"Sit down, honey; he'd want you there." Carol motioned toward a little couch under the window. "We'll be fine over here."

Blaine nodded his gratitude and returned to his spot. The group fell silent, the only sound coming from the occasional oxygen burst of the nosepiece and the blip of the heart rate monitor. Blaine studied the silhouette of Kurt's body beneath the thin blanket, wondering over the damage hidden there. He wanted to kiss him, hold him; make everything okay. He settled for reaching a hand up and touching the hair that brushed the top of his ear. Kurt never allowed him to mess with his hair (despite his own near obsession with Blaine's), but now Blaine could smooth the silky softness beneath his hand lightly, an act he didn't feel was too brazen in front of Kurt's family. He smoothed the bangs back neatly, knowing they would only fall back into their previous place, but- before they did- he caught sight of something. He leaned forward, frowning, and brushed the hair back again. He had not been imagining things. He heard the clang of his chair hitting the floor and the next thing he knew his back was pressed against the far wall. His breath coming in shallow bursts and a roaring sound like ocean waves in his ears.

"What?" Burt demanded, staring at him in alarm, "What's wrong?"

Blaine could only shake his head. _The sick bastard. The fucking sick bastard._ He felt the world tilt on its axis so much that he had to sink down to the ground, his head going to his knees.

"Should I be calling a nurse?" Carol asked from somewhere above him.

"N-no. No nurses." Blaine managed to choke out, his breath still coming like he'd run a marathon. "It's me. It's just me."

He felt a heavy hand on his back. "It's all right, kiddo, it just hit you hard. You'll be all right."

Burt's voice was calm, gentle. "What upset you, buddy, huh?"

Blaine lifted his head, he knew he couldn't answer that. His hand reached without permission to trace the permanent reminder of his past. He looked to Burt, his voice trembling, "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill Eric Marlow."

Burt patted him on the shoulder. "Not if I beat you to it."

"Visiting hours are almost up, and I think you've had enough for one day. Why don't you let Finn take you home?" Burt straightened up, offering a hand to Blaine.

Blaine looked hesitantly back to the bed.

"He'll be here tomorrow, and you can be too—you'll need to talk with the police." Burt reassured him. "So say good bye just for now. We'll wait outside."

Blaine waited for the other three to slip out the door before moving back to the bedside. He forced himself to push back Kurt's hair again and look at the thing that had broken his composure. It wasn't from a blow like his own- it was an incision- roughly cut to mirror his own. It had been stitched, but it would likely leave a small scar. _Twins. Eric's twins_. Blaine gritted his teeth against the fury that threatened to tear him apart. When he found his hold once more, he leaned down and pressed his lips against the spot. His mouth moved to Kurt's ear to whisper through gritted teeth. "I made a promise to keep you safe. I won't break that."

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed, and thank you again for the patience while I navigated through a crazy week of school (midterms= never ending, ugh) but i have been working hard and should have a few more chapters to post sooner than this one got put up! Thanks as always to the reviewers and all the readers; you guys make doing this fun :)**


	15. Chapter 14

A/N: Woohoo! Got another chapter written! its a little guy, but here it is all the same :) look out for 15 sometime tomorrow :)

Disclaimer: Glee's not mine

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**Chapter 14**

"Finish your breakfast, honey, we have to get going." Carol drained her coffee cup in the sink.

"My teeth are tired." Finn mumbled around a mouthful of Pop-Tart.

"Would you rather stay here, then?" Carol didn't look at him as she bustled from the kitchen to the family room—dropping things in her purse, checking the extra bag she'd packed of some of Kurt's things.

"No. I wanna come." Finn gave up on his breakfast. A daring feet considering how much he loved wild berry Pop-Tarts.

He sank down into the passenger's seat, his head against the glass. At eight in the morning, it was already warm against his face.

"Burt says he was awake for a little while this morning." Carol offered after a few minutes of silent driving.

"That's good… is he feeling okay, I mean, better?" Finn blinked to try and ease the burning in his eyes. He was _so _tired.

"I don't think he said anything, but I'm sure he's doing much better." Carol patted Finn's knee- more a reassurance to herself that her own flesh and blood was safe beside her than any comfort to Finn.

Finn dosed off despite his best efforts and only awoke when his mother shook his shoulder to announce they'd arrived. He dragged after her up to the third floor.

Blaine was already there, neatly dressed as ever, his hands folded in his lap. Finn was always a little in awe of Blaine- proper, neat, charming, and for some reason, he always knew exactly what to say… he'd tried to describe his observations to Rachel once and she'd provided him with the word for it: _dapper_. Blaine was dapper.

"Hey, man, you been here long?"

Blaine startled a little, apparently having been lost in his thoughts. He smiled quickly though, and stood. "Not too long. How was the drive over?"

"Fine, dear. Have you been in to see Kurt yet?" Carol was frowning at Blaine the same way she did at Finn when he didn't feel well.

"No, ma'am," Blaine nodded toward the clock. "Family only until ten."

"You've just been-" Carol cut herself off with a disgusted noise and marched toward the nurse's station. She stood and talked with the woman behind the counter for a few minutes, motioning toward the boys behind her a few times.

"Have you heard anything?" Blaine spoke up, watching Carol with his hands folded behind his back.

Finn glanced at Blaine. "Burt says he was awake for a bit early today."

Blaine nodded slowly. "Good. That's good."

Finn studied the boy beside him. He was a good solid six or seven inches shorter. He'd never realized how small Blaine was (then again, next to Finn, everyone looked little), but how come he'd never noticed such an extreme height difference? Maybe it was something in how he carried himself or how he stood or maybe it was that Dalton blazer… Finn folded his own hands behind his back, tried to get his shoulders set straight-

"All right, boys- Finn, what are you doing?" Carol looked at her son strangely.

Finn dropped his hands back to his sides and let his shoulders slump back quickly. "Nothing."

Blaine glanced at him, but seemed unfettered.

"Blaine, you're coming with us now." Carol smiled at him, but still sent Finn a few odd looks.

"Thank you, ma'am." Blaine smiled, looking relieved as he followed them down the hall.

"Call me Carol, sweetie; and what exactly were you planning on doing out there until ten?"

Blaine smiled ruefully and shrugged. "I talked to the police when I got in, and it didn't make much sense for me to just turn around and go back home. I was hoping I could wait around for someone to tell me something, I guess."

"Well, why wait when you can check on things yourself." Carol touched a soft hand to Blaine's arm with a smile.

Blaine held the door open for both Carol and Finn before following after them. Finn made a mental note to hold doors more often.

"How is he?" Carol asked softly, moving to sit beside Burt.

Burt looked exhausted, "Well drugged. Rough time this morning."

"Is he okay?" Blaine moved to the other side of the bed to study Kurt's face.

"He will be. Real disoriented this morning and he was in a lot of pain…the doctors want to ease up on the sedation though, keep him awake for a bit from time to time." Burt rubbed his eyes with the hand that wasn't locked on his son's.

"Have you had anything to eat?" Carol said after a few moments silence, her eyes on her husband. "We should go down to the cafeteria."

"Not hungry." Burt replied flatly.

"Coffee, then." Carol squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm not leaving him, Carol." Burt kept his eyes on his child.

"He'd be upset if he knew you weren't taking care of yourself, and you know it." Carol tugged gently at his shoulder. "The boys can stay with him until we get back."

Burt kept his eyes on Kurt's face for a few moments longer before letting out a resigned sigh. "All right. A cup of coffee."

"You two will be all right, won't you?" Carol turned around to study Finn on the couch.

Finn nodded, "Sure."

"Take your time." Blaine smiled.

When the door closed behind his parents, Finn wasn't really sure what to do. He had never really been alone with Blaine before…well, technically Kurt was there, but he didn't really count just then…maybe that was an awful thing to think…

Blaine didn't seem to mind the silence. He studied Kurt's face; brushed a hand across his forehead until it came to rest on his cheek and left it there.

Finn regarded him with curiosity. The weirdest thing about Blaine was Kurt. The two just didn't make sense to Finn…well, two dudes in a relationship was still a little confusing for him, but even if it wasn't, they seemed like a funny couple all the same. But… the way Blaine watched Kurt now and the way Kurt looked when he would come home from Dalton… there was no question they were crazy about each other. Maybe it was like him and Rachel; they made no freaking sense at all…

"How do you think two people end up together?"

When Blaine looked up at him, his eyebrows raised, Finn realized he'd spoken aloud. _Damn; awkward._

Before he could try and take the query back though, Blaine smiled and shrugged. "I don't know."

Finn opted to keep his mouth shut. Too afraid of making a fool of himself again to give any explanation for the question.

Blaine, however, seemed as at ease as ever. "I think you find the person who sees you in a way nobody else does."

Finn nodded slowly. He liked that—it reminded him of Rachel. But he wasn't entirely sure how it pertained to Blaine: everyone knew Blaine was…what was the word? Oh yeah: dapper. "DoesKurt see you that way?"

Blaine's hand was still cupped against Kurt's cheek; he smiled, "Definitely."

"Do you think you see him that way?" Kurt had always been a mystery to Finn. One second he seemed happy, the next he was angry or crying or depressed. But not when it came to Blaine. He was always happy when it came down to Blaine.

Blaine brushed his thumb across the abrasions by Kurt's nose. "I try to. I can't even begin to tell you what he was thinking with this though."

Blaine looked sad. Finn had never seen Blaine look anything but varying degrees of happy- other than the day before when he'd freaked about Kurt being in the hospital. He wondered briefly if he'd said something to depress him (maybe Finn was just a boring conversation partner), but whatever the cause of the line between the smaller boy's eyebrows, Finn felt responsible for making him feel a little better. "You…you make him really happy, ya know."

Blaine smiled briefly at Finn then looked back to Kurt. "I do my best."

Finn rose from the couch and took the chair on the opposite side of the bed from Blaine. The two regarded each other for a moment before Blaine slipped back into his casual conversation mode. "How are things with Rachel?"

"Good…. great. She's great." Finn studied the little clip on Kurt's finger and wondered what it might be for.

Blaine asked him another question, but Finn didn't hear it. His eyes were still focused on his stepbrother's hand. He thought he'd seen it move...

"Finn?" Blaine called his name uncertainly.

There. He was sure this time. Kurt's fingers curled and uncurled atop the sheet. "I- I think maybe he's waking up."

Blaine dropped his hand from Kurt's face and leaned over to see.

The hand was still for a moment, and then it twitched again, fingers flexing out and then in toward his palm. Finn let out a fluttery relieved laugh.

Blaine straightened back up and took Kurt's hand on his side of the bed in his own. "Kurt, Kurt can you hear us?"

Finn watched the rhythmic movement of his brother's hand. Mesmerized as the movement intensified- his hand clenching tighter…

A low moan startled Finn from his focus. Kurt's leg moved beneath the blanket, his peaceful face looked suddenly stricken with agony. "Blaine, what's happening?"

Blaine remained calm, his free hand going to Kurt's hair, his mouth close to his ear. "Shh, just relax."

Kurt didn't relax. He moaned again, louder, and let out a hiss of pain when he tried to suck in a breath.

"Blaine, what do we do?" Finn stood; frightened.

"Hold his hand; let him know you're here." Blaine instructed, his voice still all silk as he turned his attention back to Kurt. "Kurt, hush, it's me. I'm here."

Kurt's breathing was erratic, his eyes clenched tightly shut. His mouth opened and closed a few times only to let out cries of pain before a breathy word escaped, "…hurts…"

"I know, I know." Blaine moved his hand from Kurt's head to his chest, his fingers fanned out across his sternum, just barely touching the thin hospital gown, "Nice and easy. Shallow breaths, just up to my hand; you feel my hand, don't you?"

Finn found _himself_ soothed by Blaine's soft murmurings into Kurt's ear; he gently squeezed Kurt's hand.

Kurt's breathing evened out, but it still sounded labored as it came in short bursts from his mouth. Soft whimpers escaped every few exhalations. Blaine watched the rise and fall of his chest and sang softly to him, "_I'll sing it one last time for you, then we really have to go…"_

Blaine sang until Kurt stilled again, his breathing even and his hand going limp in Finn's. Finn watched Blaine for some indication of how to proceed.

Blaine remained half-standing for a long moment before sinking back down into his chair. He looked exhausted.

Finn sat, too, warily watching Kurt's hand in his. "Kind of intense, huh?"

Blaine rubbed his eyes with the hand not holding Kurt's, "It'll get better. You did great."

Finn wanted to point out that he'd stood there and stared at Blaine the whole time, but he felt as tired as Blaine looked and didn't want to raise controversy. "I liked the song you sang for him."

Blaine smiled graciously, but his eyes didn't leave Kurt.

Finn wondered if he would look at Rachel that way if something were wrong with her. "He's lucky to have you."

There went his mouth again: shooting itself off without consulting himself first.

Blaine didn't smooth the moment over with a smart response. He cringed. "If he didn't have me, he wouldn't be in this situation in the first place."

"You didn't do this, man." Finn looked over his brother. "This isn't something a human does… this…these guys had to be monsters from the beginning."

It was Blaine's turn to study Finn's face. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door opened and Burt and Carol were back.

"How is he?" Burt demanded, immediately settling into the chair beside Blaine.

"He sort of woke up for-" Finn started.

"He was awake?" Burt looked up sharply at Finn. "Did he say anything?"

"Not really; he was hurting pretty bad, I think… Blaine calmed him down." Finn glanced at Blaine for confirmation.

"His ribs were hurting him pretty badly." Blaine offered lamely.

Burt looked over Blaine for a moment before squeezing his shoulder briefly. "Glad you were here to settle him down, then."

All four sat in silence for a long moment. Burt glanced over at Blaine. "You planning on going into school in the middle of July?"

"Huh?" Blaine raised his eyebrows in confusion.

Burt only nodded toward Blaine's Dalton uniform.

"Oh, that." Blaine smiled. "I do tours for incoming freshman at Dalton; I have to work today."

"What time?"

"Well, uh, technically eight this morning until three." Blaine rubbed the back of his neck with a bashful smile.

Burt, to everyone's shock, chuckled. "Get to work, kid. Kurt's not going anywhere."

"With respect sir, I'd like to stay." Blaine responded.

_Who talks like that? _Finn stared at Blaine. How the hell was a guy like Finn who had to give himself a mental kick to say you're welcome when someone thanked him for something, supposed to keep up with a kid in a uniform who sounded like he drank tea with the queen or something? Maybe they took a class at Dalton on how to act like that.

Burt didn't seem as convinced by Blaine's linguistic stylings, "I know you would, but it's not good for kids to be in hospitals for too long. That goes for you, too, Finn, I want you to go be with Puck or Rachel or something later today."

Finn nodded quickly. He was terrified of ever arguing with Burt Hummel. Besides, Burt was kind of right, there was something draining about being in that place for too long.

Blaine looked conflicted for a moment before rising from his seat. "Yes, sir."

"Call me Burt, Blaine." Burt instructed in the same tone. He stared at him a moment longer. "You did a good thing today; talking to the police."

"Thank you, s- Burt." Blaine looked awkward for a moment, but then smiled; shaking Burt's hand and giving Carol's arm a squeeze as he moved toward the door. "Thank you for getting me in this morning."

"Of course, honey. It shouldn't be a problem from now on, I had them move you to the family visitor's list." Finn was confused when his mother suddenly hugged Blaine. "Get some rest, Blaine. You're exhausted."

Blaine nodded his head briefly. He paused in the doorway to look back at Kurt and then at the rest of the family. "Would you mind calling me if anything changes?"

"Sure." Finn waved his phone in the air so Blaine could see it.

With a final nod toward the group, Blaine quietly exited the room.

Carol sighed and stared at the closed door. "Sweet boy."

Finn spotted an opportunity to show off his new vocabulary. "He's very dapper."

Burt chuckled again, "That kid is beyond me."

Carol moved to sit down beside Finn. He let her wrap an arm around him and stroke his hair. She sighed. "He needs someone to let him put the act down for a few minutes. He's exhausted. Seeing Kurt like this can't be easy for him, and other than for a few hours yesterday, he's done nothing but smile and be polite."

"Blaine's always like that, mom." Finn yawned.

"Mothers know when children are just trying to put on a brave face." Carol looked over at her stepson, her voice soft. "And a brave face can go too far."

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**A/N: So a little bit from the Finn perspective; thought it might be nice to see what's going on with our other characters for a little bit; hope you liked it :)**


	16. Chapter 15

A/N: haha so I don't know if posting three chapters in like a day and a half is a good thing or just sort of obnoxious but ive been loving life since school eased up and apparently that inspires a bit of creativity because I just keep writing :) Anyway, here's chapter 15!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee

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**Chapter 15**

Blaine didn't bother checking the clock to see if it was too early. He ignored Tucker when he whimpered beside him to come along. He didn't bother stretching out his legs or walking to the end of the driveway. He didn't bother looking up for the possibility of some loitering stars; he knew better- low clouds had been drenching New Albany all night and the distant rumble of thunder had not yet fully faded. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he took off, his shoes resounding on the pavement. It was still slightly dark- streetlights remained glowing and dew and rain reflected off lawns. Five days. Five days and the most Kurt had done was wake long enough to scream in pain until the nurses sedated him.

Blaine ran faster. He'd witnessed only two of the screaming sessions—the first on the Friday visit with Finn, and the second just the evening before. He'd been asked to leave by one of the attendings; well, he had more so been forced out the door- the sound of Kurt's cries filling his ears and his nightmares. _Faster. _

Burt had called him later to tell him they'd gotten the whole thing under control; reassuring Blaine that he'd witnessed much worse earlier on in the hospital stay. Blaine was not comforted by the thought of worse agony for his lover than what he'd witnessed.

_Faster. Faster. Faster._

He didn't care where he was going. He ran until his ears rang, his vision blurred white at the edges, and all at once his feet refused to move any more. He tripped over his useless limbs and fell, his knees scraping against the pavement.

He remained on his hand and knees for a moment, panting to catch his breath. He could feel the drum of blood pulsating behind his eardrums. When his body found some more satisfied state of equilibrium, he took in his surroundings.

The parking lot behind the park.

He felt no thrill of fear and no dread in the pit of his stomach. After all, it was only…he didn't know what time it was, actually, but he knew he wouldn't be encountering anyone with the exception of maybe an avid marathon trainee or some small wildlife that made it's home in the foliage. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the lot and looked around. This is where it had happened; he was sure of it. There were a few lots behind the park, but when the police had mentioned finding Kurt in such a lot, Blaine had known exactly which one. It was smaller than the others and tucked in a little further away from the main road. He'd been dragged here only a few times, but those few trips were enough to cement the place in his memory. This was a place he visited in his nightmares. This was the place the boy he loved had been left for dead.

Blaine drew his knees up, dropping his head between them when a wave of nausea hit him hard. He waited for it to pass before finding his footing and walking back toward home. The walk back took considerably more time than the run outward had (then again, he hadn't really had a concept of time while he sprinted away from his demons), so, by the time he slipped back through the door and into the kitchen to search out a bottle of water, the light behind the retreating rain clouds was a milky pink and yellow. He took a long drink from the bottle he'd found in the fridge, not caring that the icy water felt like a kick to his stomach.

"Blaine! What happened to you?" His mother had suddenly appeared through the kitchen door.

Blaine blinked at her vacantly, and then followed her gaze down to his legs. Blood snaked down his shins and into his shoes and socks. Funny that he hadn't felt it. "Tripped when I was running."

"Sit down; I'll get the medical kit." Shannon Anderson disappeared from the kitchen once again.

Blaine complied with her request, settling down in a kitchen chair to watch the sky brightening out the window above the sink.

His mother returned with the gaudy black box and fussed over him. He didn't object; he was content to let her deal with this mess she could actually clean up. He did note, however, the lack of his father's presence in the kitchen that morning. He glanced at the clock on the microwave. 6:30. His father would be up by now… "Where's dad?"

His mother glanced up at him, "Business trip to New York until Thursday, baby, you knew that."

"Right, guess I forgot." Blaine watched his mother pour antiseptic onto a washcloth.

She pressed it to each knee and then looked up at him; concern lining her features. "That didn't sting?"

That was the expression Blaine had sworn he would never cause on his mother's face. He smiled and laughed a little. "I'm not seven, Mom, I don't cry every time I just see the bottle with the red cap."

She smiled too, but still looked troubled. She went back to tending his knees- she bandaged them up and insisted on throwing away his socks, but upon returning to him, she sighed. "Oh Blaine, look at your hands."

He did so. The bottoms of his palms were almost as torn up as his knees. He offered another smile "I had to catch myself, and it was either my hands or my face that were going to do it. I think I made a good choice."

She smiled and let out a fluttery laugh. "Let me see."

He held out both hands to her without objection. She pulled a chair up and set to work pulling out bits of gravel and washing them clean before wrapping them in white gauze. "There; all done."

"Good as new." Blaine agreed.

She took each of his hands in hers. He cringed at the softness of her voice. "Blaine."

He reluctantly met her gaze. He hated seeing her look so worried.

"Blaine, what's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" Blaine furrowed his brow in the best mock-up of confusion he could think of in that moment.

"Don't you give me that, Blaine Michael Anderson." She searched his eyes. "You don't eat, you're going on these ridiculous runs before the sun's even up, and you look like you haven't slept in days. Tell me what's bothering you, baby."

Blaine wanted to collapse in her arms and cry. Sob out everything, so he didn't have to carry it anymore. He wanted to be five years old when his mother could still make everything all better.

He let out a long breath, a little irritated with himself when his voice wavered. "You know my friend Kurt."

"The boy from your singing group. The one with the lovely soprano voice." His mother nodded.

"Yeah, that's him." He paused. What was he supposed to tell her? She had met Kurt on maybe two or three occasions; all well before their relationship had begun. "He- some people hurt him. Really, really bad…he's been in the hospital and it's just- it's been hard, I guess."

She was silent for a long time, her hands still wrapped around his. "This boy, Blaine, is he…special to you?"

Blaine nodded and swallowed. "Very."

Another long silence and finally she raised a hand to his cheek. "I would ask if you were special to him, but I already know the answer to that one."

He smiled feebly for her. She really did try.

"I'm sure there is an excellent medical staff caring for him, and I'm sure he has a family member or someone who loves him, you know that, right?"

He nodded.

"I understand you're upset, honey, that your…friend…is in the hospital. But that does not explain all of this." She traced the dark skin below his right eye.

"It was just hard at first, mom, I'm fine. I haven't been having nightmares, right? That's always good." He didn't mention that he didn't have nightmares because his didn't sleep. Instead he smiled reassuringly.

When she still looked conflicted, he added, "I'll ease up on the running if it makes you feel better, it's just been a good stress outlet."

She nodded slowly. Then smiled. "Will you let me make you breakfast?"

Her smile made him smile. "Sure, mom."

He tried to get up to make coffee, but she shooed him out of the kitchen to the family room where she forced the TV remote into his hand. "Be a normal teenager and be lazy for a change. It'll be good for you. I'll let you know when food's ready."

Blaine felt his heart ache for his dear mother. He'd have to do better in the future. For the time being, he was content to mollify her by turning on the television and resting his head on Tucker's side when he jumped up on the couch.

When he was allowed to re-enter the kitchen, he forced a smile. "Smells good."

She had made strawberry and banana pancakes. A strange obsession he'd had somewhere around the age of six, and never really thought to eat after the phase had ended. They laughed over the creation and he let her reminisce about when he was a little boy while he cut his food into smaller and smaller triangles, surreptitiously feeding them to Tucker below the table.

She rested her chin in her hands and smiled at him, "This reminds me of when you were a little boy and your father would leave for business trips."

"You used to let me sleep in your bed." Blaine smiled. "What's with all the childhood throwbacks, anyway?"

Her smile dipped a little. "Oh, I don't know… I guess it all started with this book we did for book club. It was about a mother who lost her three year old at the airport and didn't get him back until he was much older… she felt like she recognized him, but didn't know him at all."

"I have never been lost in an airport." Blaine replied with a grin.

"Blaine, that's not funny." His mother said softly.

Blaine mentally kicked himself. Humor was not the approach to take with an emotional mother. He reached out and rested his hand on hers. "I'm still me."

"You just grew up so fast." Shannon smiled sadly, "When did that happen?"

"You blinked." Blaine smiled. "Thanks for breakfast."

"Thank you for humoring me." She moved to take his plate.

"I've got it." He sniped her plate from the table, too, and took them to the dishwasher. "You want help cleaning up?"

"No, honey, go take a shower." She moved toward the stove and then glanced at him again. "On second thought; be creative- don't get your knees wet."

He laughed a little for her benefit as he made his way up the stairs, but once in the bathroom he opted to pull the bandages off his hands and knees so he could shower. He didn't have the energy to be creative, and he could always get new Band-Aids from the hall closet.

He tipped his face up toward the icy downpour of the faucet for a few minutes, liking the way it stung his face and shoulders, before turning the temperature hotter. He noted the pink tinted water running down the drain and studied his knees for a while. He'd really done a number on his left one; he bent it a few times experimentally before turning off the tap and moving to finish getting ready. He was re-bandaging a hand when his phone went off. Finn's name came up in bold, black font on the screen.

"Hello?" Blaine felt his muscles tense; prepared to hear the worse.

"Hey, man, what's up?" Blaine couldn't read Finn's voice. It was as awkward and slightly confused as ever.

"Nothing. Is everything all right?" Blaine wasn't going to exchange social pleasantries when there was something potentially wrong with the boy he loved.

"Oh, yeah, um, really good actually. Kurt's up." Finn paused. "Well not like up walking around, but he's awake and he's doing pretty good- he talks and stuff."

Blaine swallowed hard, a wave of relief nearly overwhelming him. "That… that's wonderful."

"He… he was asking about you, so, um, I guess if you're not busy with stuff-"

"I'm on my way now." Blaine dropped his phone down and stripped off his Dalton suit shirt. He flipped through his shirts until he found the black Armani Exchange shirt Kurt had given him a few weeks earlier (clearly pleased with the find), but he gave little attention to his shorts- pulling the camel colored cargos off the floor and still trying to get them on as he jogged down the stairs- Tucker nearly tripping him on the way.

"Don't you work today?" Shannon was scrubbing off the skillet, but turned to watch Blaine rush around the kitchen on a quest to find his keys.

"Kurt's awake. I'm gonna go to the hospital." Blaine replied, still searching. "Have you seen my keys?"

"Did you call into work to let them know you won't be there?" She kept scrubbing.

"I'll call on the way; seriously, any idea where my keys are?" Blaine pulled open the fridge in desperation.

"Honey, take a breath." His mother frowned at him briefly. "They're hanging up in the laundry room."

Blaine darted toward the laundry room, letting out a cry of victory to let his mother know he'd found them. He dashed back into the kitchen, kissed her on the cheek, thanked her a second time for breakfast and jogged out the door. Once on the road, he was restless sitting so still in the close confines of the vehicle. He turned on the radio and let music soothe him.

He scribbled his name in the visitor's log- a B with an incoherent loop after it- and hurried down the hall. Despite all his rush, he paused outside the door, taking a breath. He shouldn't get his hopes up, if Kurt had been up and talking earlier he was probably exhausted and already back asleep. It might just be another day of sitting at his bedside studying the drip from the IV. He opened the door.

Everyone turned to look at him—Carol and Finn were already on the couch, Burt on the right side of the bed. And Kurt. After nothing but unconsciousness interrupted by agonized screams for days, Kurt was looking at him.

"Kurt." Blaine felt breathless. "You…you're awake."

Kurt smiled weakly. "Are you going to come see me or just stand there?"

Blaine realized he was still in the doorway. He crossed the small space and sat down slowly in the vacant chair on the left side of the bed. He couldn't take his eyes off Kurt's.

"Why don't we give you two a minute?" Carol nodded at Burt to indicate they should leave.

"We'll be back in a minute, 'kay, buddy?" Burt touched Kurt's arm.

"Make it at least five, please." Kurt's voice was raspy.

Burt smiled and nodded. He turned his head twice to look over his shoulder at his son before letting the door close behind them.

Kurt watched the door close before directing his gaze back at Blaine; he smiled again. "Hi."

Blaine let out a shaky laugh, his hand going to Kurt's face. "Hi… Oh God, Kurt, you have no idea- I thought- well, I mean-"

Kurt watched Blaine with fascination. The way he bit his bottom lip, set his jaw, blinked a few times, and finally had to look away. Had he ever seen Blaine cry? He wasn't sure- he could barely remember the day of the week let alone if he'd ever seen his boyfriend cry- but he still wanted to hug him close. He reached an arm up to touch Blaine's hand on his face, but let out a whimper of pain instead, dropping his arm back to the bed.

The potential tears disappeared quickly and Blaine was half on his feet immediately. "Easy. Your collar bone's broken; just relax."

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, letting the pain ebb to a dull ache he could handle.

"Shh, you're all right." Blaine was murmuring, stroking his cheek, and running his fingers through his hair.

Kurt remembered- fuzzily- how much he'd longed for that exact comfort lying in the dark on a night that felt so strangely distant. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I'm not going anywhere." Blaine murmured; his fingers laced between Kurt's.

They sat in silence for a long time, so long, that Blaine was sure Kurt had drifted back to sleep, but then he spoke again, his eyes still closed. "I had a dream this morning that my foot was stuck in a bear trap."

"Probably from your ankle. Does it hurt?" Blaine glanced down at the cast.

Kurt ignored him. "I was stuck and I was screaming for help, and you came… but your foot was in one too; you'd pulled the chain out of the ground so you could walk around though."

Blaine studied Kurt's face; he could see the red line across his forehead below his bangs. "Kurt."

Kurt opened his eyes, a little groggily, to stare at Blaine. "Hmm?"

"Did they…" Blaine swallowed. "Eric- he-they… They just… hit you, right?"

"Well when you put it that way you totally minimize it." Kurt smiled a little sardonically.

"Kurt," Blaine wasn't looking for a joke; he needed an answer if he was ever going to sleep again; "I mean, they- that's it though, right?"

Kurt looked a little more cognizant. He studied the intensity on Blaine's face. "I guess so…. what else would there be, Blaine?"

Blaine felt a perceivable weight lift off his shoulders. He smiled. "Dunno. I guess I've just had a lot of time to sit here and think of stuff."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Blaine, but then cringed. His ribs burned terribly.

"What hurts?" Blaine's voice was silk, his hand smoothing Kurt's arm.

"My chest." Kurt muttered through gritted teeth.

"Breathe nice and slow." Blaine murmured; he fanned his hand across his sternum the same way he had in the last attack. "Follow my hand."

Kurt did as he was told, trying to let his ribs rise only so far as the hand above them. Soon, the sharp sting abated, but he was exhausted. "Thanks."

Blaine read his mind as always. "Go to sleep. You've had a big day."

Kurt groped for Blaine's hand until he found it. "Can you do something for me?"

"Anything." Blaine squeezed his hand gently.

"Stay until I fall asleep… maybe you could sing?" Kurt's voice wavered; he didn't like the idea of being alone.

Blaine felt an ache in his chest. "Of course I will."

He rested the side of his face on his arm at the edge of the bed, his other hand in Kurt's. He sang him _Candles_- knowing he'd like the reminder of their duet-and when he was sure he was asleep, he sang him a few verses of whatever came to mind: bits and pieces that moved through his head that had finally slowed down for a few minutes.

_Light up, light up_

_As if you have a choice_

_Even if you can not hear my voice_

_I'll be right beside you dear_

* * *

**A/N: So there you have it; hope you enjoyed. Ive always pictured Blaine as just a little bit of a mama's boy (and what mommy couldn't help but fuss over someone as adorable as Blaine as their child?) haha, also, big massive shout out to Snow Patrol for the song "Run" at the end of this chapter (it's also the line Blaine sang to Kurt in 14). I've been in music mode lately when I write, so expect more little song blurps to come when I feel like they fit (and also, if you haven't heard this particular song, it's a goodie so check it out) and if youve got some you feel totally go with this story let me know! I wont necessarily include them, but I love listening to music that sort of vibes with what I'm writing it puts me in a good mood for the material sort of... anyway, hope you liked it and thank you for reading/reviewing/doing your thing :)**


	17. Chapter 16

A/N: Woohoo another chapter to give you!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee

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**Chapter 16**

Blaine was aware of two things. First, was the fact that he had slept. The second was the sensation of familiar fingers smoothing his hair. He remained still beneath the touch, enjoying the comfort it gave him. After a few more minutes of basking in the momentary calm, he opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh fluorescent light.

"Morning." Kurt smiled at him, his hand slipping from his head when Blaine straightened up.

Blaine rubbed at the stiffness in his shoulders for a moment; he looked around, disoriented. He didn't remember falling asleep. "Sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"Don't be. You needed it." Kurt looked…. Better. Less pale.

Blaine smiled, "It's obviously been doing you some good. You look better. How do you feel?"

"Better." Kurt agreed. "How do _you_ feel?"

"I'm not the one in the hospital bed." Blaine replied; in truth, his knees were sort of killing him.

"Carol seems to think you should be. She got the nurses to let you stay all day so you could sleep."

Blaine looked around the room for a clock. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven." Kurt studied Blaine as best he could from his prone position. "My dad and Carol went to get something to eat. Finn went home."

Blaine nodded slowly. That was…. what, a good ten hours of sleep? More than he'd gotten since Kurt's admittance to the hospital that much he was sure of. And no nightmares. "You need anything?"

"Just you." Kurt smiled. He patted his hand on the edge of the bed.

Blaine rested his chin on his arm so that his and Kurt's eyes were level, and sought out his hand to hold. "Anymore bear trap dreams?"

Kurt looked puzzled for a moment.

"You told me earlier that you had a dream that your foot was stuck in a bear trap." Blaine prompted; trying not to sound concerned.

A light of comprehension switched on in Kurt's eyes, "Oh, right. No, none that I remember. No nightmares?"

Blaine smiled, "No nightmares."

A nurse came through the door; an older woman with green plastic glasses and Disney characters on her scrubs. She smiled at Blaine. "Well look who finally decided to wake up."

Blaine smiled sheepishly, sitting up straighter again. "Thank you, for letting me stay."

"Of course, honey. We've had pools at the nursing station about when you were going to collapse in the hallway since the day this guy first came in." The nurse nodded toward Kurt as she pulled his chart from the end of the bed.

Kurt looked to Blaine warily, studying him closer.

Blaine blushed and avoided Kurt's eyes. "Just a little stressed over all this, I guess."

The nurse returned the chart to its holder and moved to check the IVs and smile at Kurt. "Well, we're through the woods now. Nice to be seeing so much more of those pretty eyes."

Kurt blushed, but smiled. "When can I go home?"

The nurse's smile—Blaine noted the name on her scrub pocket said Rose—dipped a little. "That all depends on how things go. You've got your work cut out of you getting back on your feet."

Kurt frowned, his fingers twitching a little in Blaine's. "How long before I can start trying that?"

Rose laughed, "With that attitude, I'm sure it'll be sooner rather than later. Why don't we start by sitting you up a bit, hmm?"

"It's be nice to see something other than the ceiling." Kurt agreed.

She adjusted a pillow behind him before angling the bed higher up until he was in a more reclined sitting position.

Kurt's hand tightened on Blaine's for a moment. Blaine squeezed back. "You okay?"

Kurt breathed slowly for a moment, letting the flash of pain ebb before he nodded slowly- but that hurt too- he spoke through gritted teeth. "Fine."

"Do you want me to put it back down?" Rose studied his face, her hand still on the bed's control panel.

"No. I'll get used to it." Kurt closed his eyes for a moment.

"Take it slow." Blaine murmured.

"If I took it any slower, I'd have to be dead." Kurt rolled his eyes.

Blaine flinched.

"Hey, I'll be fine." Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand; he couldn't be sure of how Blaine had handled his almost full week of unconsciousness, but he could see the end results. Blaine was a wreck, and obviously in no mind set for jokes. He brushed his thumb across Blaine's and noticed the bandages there for the first time. How could he have missed them? "What'd you do to your hand?"

Blaine glanced at the bandage too; he grinned ruefully and lifted a leg in the air for Kurt to see one of his knees. There was no point in trying to hide it from him. "Fell running."

"You don't run." Kurt frowned, noting the other bandaged knee still on the ground.

"I do now." Blaine winked.

"Honey; can you follow this with your eyes please?" The nurse pulled a penlight out of her pocket and flashed it in Kurt's eyes.

He followed its movement and let her take his temperature. Blaine watching carefully the whole time like an intern anticipating being quizzed later. "Planning on taking up the medical profession too?"

Blaine tore his eyes from Rose checking the oxygen line by Kurt's nose. He smiled again. "Maybe."

Rose glanced at Blaine, "The doctor will be in soon and she needs to check his ribs, so I'm going to have to ask you to step out for a few minutes, honey."

Blaine nodded, he squeezed Kurt's hand once and made to let go, but Kurt held on. "Can he stay?"

The nurse looked hesitantly at Blaine. "Are you sure you want him to?"

Kurt's face had paled. He hated having his ribs checked- it reminded him of the relentless hurt in the parking lot. His voice came out breathier than he meant it to, "If he doesn't mind… I'd… I'd feel better if he could."

"Of course I don't mind." Blaine remained standing at the side of the bed, Kurt's grip tight on his hand. "I told you I wouldn't go anywhere."

They waited for a few minutes more before the doctor arrived, brushing through the doorway and immediately moving to check the chart at the end of the bed. "Nice to see you so awake, Kurt. How are you feeling tonight?"

"Better." Kurt's voice shook a little. He had little memory of the past few days, but he always remembered this daily torture. Maybe he should have made Blaine leave…

"I know you're not looking forward to this, but it's something we have to do." The doctor smiled grimly at Kurt before glancing at Blaine. "Hello."

"Hi; Blaine Anderson." Blaine offered his free hand to the pretty blonde doctor with a smile.

"I'm Dr. Adams; I did Kurt's surgery when he first came in. I've seen you wandering around here; friend of Kurt's, I take it?" the doctor took the stethoscope off from around her neck. She glanced at the boys' interlocked hands as she moved toward the side of the bed then looked back at Blaine's face with a smile. "Ah."

Blaine blushed a little, but otherwise said nothing. Clearly she'd made the connection for herself.

"Will you be staying with us then, Mr. Anderson?" Dr. Adams spoke to Blaine, but her eyes were on Kurt.

Kurt glanced at Blaine. Momentarily torn.

Blaine squeezed his hand, reading his mind as always, "Whatever you need."

Kurt swallowed. "He's staying."

The doctor nodded and set to work. She pulled the blanket down to Kurt's lap and, with Rose's help, untied the back of his hospital gown and slid it down to his waist. "How are we doing so far?"

Kurt's face was pale with anticipation, but he otherwise looked all right. "Fine."

"That's better than before, right?" Rose encouraged him, working at unwrapping the gauze enveloping most of his torso.

Kurt flinched a little as the first layer came off, "Yeah, it is."

Blaine remained mute, trying to keep out of the way in fear of getting kicked out for being a nuisance. When Kurt took in a sharp breath- a quick hiss between his teeth- as the second layer came off, Blaine decided it was time to do something. Tell him something.

"I had my ribs wrapped once. Right before I went to Dalton." He said in a rush.

Kurt looked at him, curious.

The words had had their desired effect- Kurt was definitely distracted, but now Blaine knew he was required to say more, but he wasn't entirely sure _what_ to say, he let his mouth work on its own. "I only broke two; I didn't know I'd done it until I fainted right in the middle of the garage when my dad and I were working on the car."

Rose caught onto Blaine's distraction angle, and spoke up. "How did you break them in the first place?"

Blaine's eyes remained on Kurt's for a moment before he glanced toward the nurse with a grin and flashed her his bandaged hand. "Accident prone, I guess."

"What did your dad-" Kurt let out a yelp of pain as the final layer came off.

Blaine squeezed his hand harder; "He told me if I was ready to man up and walk myself into urgent care without dropping like a girl, he'd take me in to get them checked."

Dr. Adam's and the nurse exchanged a look, but said nothing.

Blaine hadn't planned on dropping that bit of information, and he was prepared to try and make light of it, but his eyes had drifted to Kurt's exposed skin, and what he saw there froze the words in his mouth. Black and blue and crimson; he couldn't find a centimeter of unmarred pink. A long row of angry, red stitches arced it's way from an inch or two below his sternum to the curve of his pelvis. Kurt's face may have been untouched, but his assailants had more than made up for it in the damage they'd done to his middle. He's lain with this damage done to him all night. Alone. Blaine felt the need to swallow hard, but felt like there was a disconnect between his brain and his periphery. He couldn't make it happen. Instead a ragged breath- a sort of half-suppressed gasp- escaped his mouth.

Kurt did not notice his boyfriend's distress; he was too consumed with his own as the doctor pressed lightly here and there, asking him for a pain rating for each spot. They were all a very solid ten. She checked the stitches, commented on how nicely they were healing, applied some sort of salve to them, and began the process of rewrapping it all. Hiding it away beneath three neat, white layers of gauze.

Blaine's speech musculature had apparently overcome the momentary disconnect, but he felt no connection to the words that came out in a soothing, low note. "You're doing great… they're almost done… Squeeze my hand; I know it hurts… just a few more minutes-"

Kurt clenched his eyes closed, but listened to the soft sound of Blaine's voice- an endless stream of encouragement- until finally his gown was drawn back up and the blankets replaced.

"You did wonderfully today, Kurt." The doctor wrote something in his chart. "It might not feel like it now, but you're healing up nicely."

Kurt was still trying to recover, but he opened his eyes to smile weakly at the doctor. "I wouldn't want to know what healing up badly feels like."

She laughed a little, putting her stethoscope back around her neck—Kurt didn't even remember her using it. "Me neither. And Blaine, if you ever decide to go into medicine, I will write you a shining recommendation for your bedside manner."

Blaine smiled at her. "I'll keep that in mind."

The nurse and the doctor exited, closing the door quietly, so once again the boys were alone.

Blaine sank back down into his chair; it wasn't until then that Kurt noticed the way Blaine's fingers trembled in his own. His free hand shook, too, as it passed through his unruly bangs once. "Blaine… are you all right?"

Blaine looked at him, shock painted across his features, and then a look of sheer grief. "You're asking me if _I'm_ all right?"

Kurt wondered again if keeping Blaine with him had been a bad idea. He nodded dumbly; not sure of what else to say. And there were the unshed tears standing in his eyes again. Kurt was sure now he had never witnessed Blaine crying.

"Kurt—what they did to you, because of me- Oh God." Blaine had to pause to regain his breath for a minute, "they beat you and left you for _dead_ because of me, Eric carved a matching scar into your forehead because of me, and now you're asking me if _I_ am okay." His throat burned; his eyes stung. He was losing his grip.

"Blaine, none of this is your fault." Kurt felt his own composure waver upon seeing Blaine so tormented.

"How can you say that?" Blaine's voice wavered. "This is _all_ my fault."

"What's going on?" Burt was standing in the doorway, scrutinizing them.

Kurt mentally cursed his father's timing. "Nothing; we're just talking."

"You look upset," Burt looked from Kurt to Blaine, "You both look upset."

"We're fine." Blaine cleared his throat.

"Blaine stayed with me while I got my chest checked... I think it just startled him a little." Kurt looked to Blaine, offering him a reassuring squeeze to his hand.

Burt looked like he understood then. He had sat in for many such check-ups and had felt the emotional strain they elicited. "Night hours are almost up, kiddo."

Blaine nodded; he leaned over and kissed Kurt quickly on the forehead. "I'll be in tomorrow."

Kurt smiled at him, but felt a knot of guilt in his stomach. He watched Blaine stride toward the door- a slight limp to his step. "Blaine?"

He turned in the doorway, his face still tense with remorse. "Yeah?"

"Promise me you're not going to beat yourself up over this."

Blaine smiled grimly, "A little late for that."

"Blaine." Kurt said sharply. He couldn't stand him leaving with that look on his face.

Blaine ran a hand through his hair again, his expression aggrieved. "I don't make promises I can't keep, Kurt. I'm sorry."

Kurt stared in shock as Blaine disappeared around the corner.

"Do you want me to go talk with him?" Burt looked to his son.

"No, let him go," Kurt was silent for a long moment. "… Dad?"

"Yeah, buddy?" Burt moved to the chair Blaine had previously occupied.

"Has he been all right through all of this?" Kurt finally tore his eyes away from the empty doorway. "One of the nurses said he's been a bit of a wreck."

Burt took his hat off to rub his head. "He does okay. Looks a bit tired and he can be a little tense, but he's been as polite a kid as he's ever been. He just wants to see you better. We all do."

Kurt looked to his father and felt a pang of remorse. He had caused so much pain for the people he loved. "I'm sorry you've had to go through all of this."

"Hey, don't you worry about me buddy; I want you happy and I want you safe. If that means I gotta lose a couple hours of sleep or a couple years to prison for killing the guy who did this, I will." Burt squeezed his son's hand.

"Orange would be a terrible color on you." Kurt's voice wavered.

"I would even wear a color that did not compliment my skin tone to keep you safe." Burt smiled, brushing the tears from Kurt's face with his free hand.

* * *

Blaine moved toward his car as quickly as he could; he needed something to occupy his mind- something other than mutilated torsos and moaning and that voice screaming at him in his head. _This is all your fault._

He drove well over the speed limit towards home; his music so loud it almost hurt his ears. When he pulled into the driveway, he didn't go inside. He climbed out of his car and lay down in the grass. The sky was clear. He counted. Counted and counted and counted. When his heart still raced and his brain still buzzed, he tried singing to himself, anything to fill his mind with something else. A song came to mind, and though he felt goose bumps raise on his arms, he also felt the familiar comfort of his mind growing quiet.

_Counting stars wishing I was okay_

_Crashing down was my biggest mistake_

_I never ever meant to hurt you_

_I only did what I had to_

_Counting stars again_

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**A/N: megahugesuperduper shout out to someoneincrediblyclever for reminding me this little gem of a song even existed- I pulled it up out of my i-tunes a few days ago and could not get over how perfect it is for this! (for those of you unaware, this song is *get ready for the title and then get as excited as i did about it* "counting stars" by sugarcult) I promise im not going to get crazy with the songs; it just kind of happened that fifteen and sixteen both ended with them; thanks for the suggestions from others, too! Ive checked a couple of them out and i like what i hear:) everyone is more than welcome to suggest more, I'm always hungry for new music, especially if it can elicit a little creativity. anyway, hope you liked sixteen; maybe just maybe seventeen will make its way out here some time tomorrow? ill see what i can do :)**


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N: I got so excited about all the love this little fic has been getting lately (seriously guys, some of your reviews get me all giggly with bashfullness you're so nice) that I sat down and got two more chapters written (17 and 18) I want to give 18 some time to sit with me before i post it though i think... its one i want to be right, but i will get it to you guys as soon as i feel like its ready...anywhoo enjoy seventeen :)**

**Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Fox not BlowtheCandlesOut**

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**Chapter 17**

Blaine closed the door behind him as quietly as he could and pulled his shoes off before climbing the stairs. He had reopened the wounds on his knees in the run and the blood had quickly worked its way through the thin bandages and ruined another pair of socks, so he pulled those off too as he made his way up toward his room. He avoiding the spot in the seventh step the he knew creaked. He made it up the stairs, but felt a rush of adrenaline at the sight of the open door of his parent's room. He paused for a moment before creeping back toward his own room. All of his stealth had been for nothing. His mother was sitting on the edge of his bed, a hand on Tucker's back where he lay beside her, and her eyes on him.

He stood suspended in the doorway; he was caught and there was nothing to say about it. He put on a quick smile, "Morning."

"It's barely five-thirty, Blaine." His mother's voice wavered, her eyes moved from the mess of his legs to his face.

"Early morning." Blaine agreed. Maybe he could just slip into the bathroom and avoid whatever conversation she was planning. "Supposed to be a hot one today. Seventy by seven or something like that."

"I suppose you want me to believe that's why you've been gone since before four." She stared hard at him.

He shrugged, "I don't like the heat."

"You told me just yesterday you were going to calm down with this." His mother's voice trembled again.

"Plenty of people go for early runs, Mom." Blaine tried to sound flippant.

"Look at your knees, Blaine!" Her voice came out in a half-hysterical shout.

He glanced down at them and felt ashamed. He'd done it again. Disappointed his mother.

"Your father's coming home early." Her voice was quieter.

"Why?" Blaine asked, suddenly wary.

"I asked him to. I called last night while you were outside in the front lawn." She looked up at Blaine again for a moment before looking away.

"Mom," Blaine moaned.

"I'm at the end of my rope, Blaine. I don't know what to do when you get like this." Tears stood in his mother's eyes. "I thought we were done with all of this after we sent you to Dalton."

Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose in a last ditch effort to calm himself. "Done with all what, Mom? Me being gay? That didn't just go away."

"You know that's not what I meant, Blaine." She snapped, but then quickly tried to calm her voice. "I am referring to the way you're acting. This has nothing to do with…that."

"This has everything to do with that." Blaine sighed. "I'm going to take a shower."

She nodded slowly, but didn't move from the edge of his bed. Her hand still rested on Tucker's head.

Blaine didn't question whether or not she planned on leaving, he went to the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the shower before sinking down to the cold tile, he rested his hands atop his head and focused on not screaming out in frustration. When his initial irritation had passed, he worked on unwrapping his knees. He grimaced; they really were an awful mess. He took his time in the shower, trying to come up with something to appease his mother and avoid his father. By the time he'd dried off and dressed, he had still come up with nothing. He jogged down the stairs, ignoring the way it made his legs ache and contemplated going straight out to his car.

"Blaine." A familiar male voice called from the kitchen. Apparently sneaking out was not going to be an option after all.

Blaine shuffled toward the kitchen. Both of his parents were standing by the counter. Blaine offered the best smile he could muster. "When Mom said you were coming home early, I didn't realize it would be _this_ early."

"I flew out last night. She sounded upset enough I thought it would be best." John Anderson stared hard at his son. "Why aren't you in your uniform?"

"I'm going to the hospital." Blaine tried to sound upbeat, but knew he was failing miserably.

"You have work at eight." His father's stern look turned into a deeper frown. "The dean from Dalton called me yesterday. He was wondering if you were ill, since, it would seem, you hadn't bothered to shown up. Apparently you were late a few days prior to that as well."

"I've been going to see my friend Kurt in the hospital. I'll clear things up with Dean Williams. He knows Kurt. He'll understand." Blaine took a step backwards toward the door.

"Don't you even think about weaseling your way out of this, Blaine." His father raised his voice just enough to stop Blaine in his tracks.

Blaine waited in silence; there was no arguing with his father.

"Give me your keys and your phone, and then go upstairs and change." His father held out his hand.

Blaine studied his father's extended arm warily, "Why?"

"Because as of right now, you're grounded. I will drop you off at Dalton on my way to the office, and your mother will pick you up."

"Grounded?" Blaine hadn't been grounded since he was maybe fourteen. "What for?"

"For your attitude." His father still had his arm reached out toward Blaine.

"My attitude?" Blaine looked between his parents at first incredulous, then pleading, hoping for some sort of show of support from his mother.

"Blaine. Now." His father snapped.

Blaine, seeing no other option, pulled his phone and his keys from his pocket and handed them over. "Can I still go to the hospital after work?"

"No, Blaine."

Blaine hadn't expected that. He'd expected a begrudging yes and some set time limit. "Dad, please, Kurt's really hurt and I need to be able to see him."

"You will have plenty of time for relationships when you're older, Blaine. Right now you are focusing on what's important."

"_He_ is important, Dad." Blaine could barely keep his voice from below a shout.

"John, I think-" Shannon looked guiltily toward Blaine then back at her husband.

"I've made my decision and it's final. You can keep running—no more than an hour at a time and never before six. This conversation is done. Go change." His father moved toward the coffee pot.

Blaine stood for a moment in the doorway before moving back toward the stairs. Deviating from his father's decisions had never been an option.

When he climbed into the passenger side of the car, his father said nothing to him, only started the drive toward Dalton.

"Can I at least call to let him know I'm not coming?" Blaine finally broke the silence.

His father didn't say anything, but after a moment, reached into his pocket and handed Blaine's phone over. "Five minutes."

Blaine picked at a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket while he listened to the phone ring.

"Hullo?" The voice on the other line sounded tired.

"Hey! It's me. Sorry if I woke you up." Blaine tried to sound cheery for the sake of the boy on the other line.

"That's all right. I've wanted to talk to you since you left yesterday. I don't like how we left things, and there's some stuff I wanted to talk to you about…when are you coming in?" Kurt sounded more awake as he chattered.

Blaine felt an ache in his chest. "That's actually why I'm calling…I can't come today."

"…Oh, okay." Kurt sounded hurt.

"It's not that I don't want to," Blaine rushed, "I'm just…sort of grounded."

"Grounded like when we were twelve and forgot to call our parents to say we were going to a friend's house after school?" Kurt sounded a little amused.

"I guess. No car and no phone." Blaine glanced at his father, but John Anderson's eyes were fixed firmly on the road.

"Ouch… for how long?"

"How long am I grounded for?" Blaine kept his eyes on his father.

"Until I decide you're not." His father didn't look at him.

"Dad-" Blaine frowned.

"Two minutes left." His father cut him off flatly.

"I… I don't know how long, but I'll be in as soon as I can." Blaine gave up on the loose thread. He wanted to run a hand through his hair, but he'd already gelled it neatly into place. "I'm really sorry."

"If that sorry is meant to have some double meaning for not being able to come visit and for me being here in the first place, I won't accept it." Kurt replied.

"I'm sorry I can't come in." Blaine revised for the sake of avoiding an argument.

"It's fine. Mercedes and Rachel are coming today. I'll have some sort of distraction… just not to the same extent."

Blaine laughed quietly. "At least it's something."

"Try to take care of yourself, and Blaine?" Kurt's voice sounded strained. "Try not to trip over anything, and get some sleep during your little hiatus from my bedside."

"I'll do my best. I expect you on your feet next time I see you." He teased.

"I really hope you don't plan on being grounded _that_ long." Kurt laughed, and then gasped in pain.

"Are you all right?" Blaine sat up straighter, straining to listen for any indication his boyfriend might be in distress.

"Calm down; I'm fine- laughing just isn't easy on my chest right now." Kurt's voice was even. "I mean it Blaine, take care of yourself and don't fuss over me. I have people here to take care of me. Be a good boy and maybe you'll get ungrounded early. I love you."

"I'll do my best. I love you, too. Bye." Blaine ended the call and dropped his phone down in the cup holder between he and his father.

There was another long silence in the car.

"I still don't get why I'm grounded." Blaine finally grumbled, leaning his head against the window.

John abruptly stopped the car on the side of the road and turned to glare at Blaine, "You and I had a deal, Blaine. I sent you to Dalton so you would stop acting like this, and here we are right back in the same place. Do you have any idea what you're doing to your mother?"

Blaine flinched as though he'd been slapped, "I'm not trying to hurt her."

"Well you're doing a shitty job of it. I don't know what happened to cause this behavior, but it ends now Blaine. If it doesn't, I will find a way to ensure that it does."

"I don't know what _behavior_ you're talking about." Blaine snapped.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about." His father said, exasperated. "I try and try with you Blaine and we always wind up right back here. Your mother upset, me at a loss, and you staring at both of us like a kicked puppy. You're out at all hours, you refuse to eat, you aren't showing up for work, and you shut yourself in your room for the few hours you do decide to grace the house with your presence."

"You're never home to even know if I'm there." Blaine said through gritted teeth.

"So what, you want me home more? Will that fix this?" His father tilted his head to try to get a better look at Blaine's face.

"… No." Blaine looked out the window for a moment. "I'll be fine."

"Last time you said that and I believed you, you ended up on the garage floor." His father sighed. "What am I supposed to do here, Blaine? Send you out of the state to a boarding school?"

"No!" Blaine turned to look at his father in alarm. "This isn't a school problem, dad, I'm just… this Kurt thing has been hard, but he's doing better and I'm doing better… I'll keep doing better. I swear… please, just… don't send me away."

His father studied him for a long time.

"Please." Blaine whispered. His eyes locked on his father's. "I'll quit the Warblers and do baseball or something, I'll stay home for dinner more; I'll even do that stupid debutante escort thing. I'll do anything."

"I'm not asking you to quit your show choir, Blaine." His father shook his head. "I'm asking you to pull yourself together."

Blaine nodded his head up and down hurriedly. "I can do that."

"Then I advise you do it quickly." His father pulled back onto the road and took the exit toward Dalton. He changed topics smoothly, "You'll have to start looking at colleges soon."

Blaine nodded. "I started my resume already."

"That's good," his father nodded approvingly. "My coming home early wasn't an entire waste. A colleague from the New York office was flying out at the same time I was. His brother is on the admissions committee for Princeton."

"Princeton." Blaine echoed, nodding his head.

"Your mother and I are having dinner with him and a few other people from the office tonight; it would be nice if you joined us." His father pulled into the lot.

Blaine went on autopilot. "I'd love to. Should I wear a suit?"

"Dress shirt and a tie. You don't need your jacket." His father parked the car outside the front entrance; he pulled out his wallet and continued speaking. "Your mother will pick you up at three. Tell her I said it's all right if you need to take the car to get a new shirt and tie. But that is your only stop."

Blaine took the offered credit card and slipped it into his wallet. "Thanks."

He climbed from the car, but turned to stare at his father through the open door for a moment. "If it were a girl… If it were my girlfriend in the hospital, would these rules be any different?"

"Get inside before you're late again, Blaine." His father responded.

Blaine nodded slowly; he shut the door before his father could hear his murmured response. "That's what I thought."

He smoothed things over easily with the Dean, promising to take on a few extra shifts and send his regards to Kurt in the hospital. He did the tour guide routine seven times that day with musical performances for all that he felt robotic performing. He smiled, patted nervous freshmen on the shoulder, and answered questions with his hands folded neatly behind his back. The old Blaine Anderson wasn't so hard to conjure back up. Charming and dapper. What more could anyone want from a Dalton soon-to-be senior?

His mother was waiting in the parking lot when his shift was over and insisted on taking him to Joseph Banks herself for a new tie and suit shirt. He let her chatter amicably about the people that would be at dinner, though she trailed off when she started talking about Mister and Missus someone's pretty daughter who was just about his age. He ignored the slip up and let her continue on in filling him in on all the trivia that might come in handy for dinner table small talk.

At dinner, he turned up the charm as high as he could. He let the women fuss over how handsome he'd gotten since they'd last seen him. He discussed the Buckeyes with Mr. Devanhue, chatted about Princeton admissions with the New York colleague (and was promptly given a phone number to reach the aforementioned brother), he even flirted with Madeline, the Bennett's daughter (a move he regretted a little when she wrote her number on a napkin and tucked it into his pocket at the end of the night). When the night finally ended and the Anderson's pulled back into the garage, his father held him back for a moment before letting him return inside. "You did good tonight, son. I'm impressed."

Blaine smiled despite himself; his father's praise was a rare thing. "I had a nice time."

His father clapped him on the arm as they entered the house, "Good man; you see, you can snap back to yourself without a hitch."

Blaine nodded along, "I'm going to go change and head to bed. Early morning tomorrow."

His father nodded. "Be ready by seven fifteen."

"Yes, sir. Goodnight." Blaine took his time going up the stairs, but as soon as the door closed firmly behind him, he dropped onto his bed, a hand going up to his neck almost automatically to loosen his tie.

Tucker jumped up beside him and splayed out.

"How did I do this everyday for two _years_?" Blaine mumbled, reaching out a hand to rub the dog's stomach. "I'm exhausted from one day."

He got back to his feet and wandered toward the bathroom. He paused in front of the mirror and studied himself for a minute. He tightened his tie back up and flashed himself a smile. He remembered the trick to the whole thing then. Remembered buttoning his uniform blazer, gelling his hair, and flashing himself that same smile on his first day of school at Dalton. Blaine Anderson the perfect impressionist—not hard to hide yourself when there's nothing underneath the mask.


	19. Chapter 18

A/N: Hey all, I've gone over this chapter about a million times and i feel like im pretty happy with it so i decided why put off until tomorrow what i can post today ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee

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**Chapter 18**

Blaine was the perfect son for four days. He ran exactly six miles every morning, ate breakfast with his mother, discussed college possibilities and watched the news with his father, took his dog for walks, mowed the lawn, went to work, and he did it all with a smile. He even went out of his way to set up a meeting with some colleague of a colleague who knew the New York Associate's brother from Princeton. Blaine hadn't really followed the connection, but he'd set up the coffee meeting anyway, knowing his father would be pleased. On the fifth morning of his detainment to his house, he went out to the garage in his new dress shirt and tie to ask his father to play chaeuffeur.

His father was dressed quite the opposite- his shirtsleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his arms were streaked with grease. He was working on the '59 Chevy. Blaine had come to resent the thing, but he did his best to not give it any looks of disdain as he waited for his father's attention. His father was trying to uncoil a new extension cord, plucking at the plastic band that held it firmly in it's wrapping. He glanced over Blaine. "You look good, kid."

Blaine glanced down at the pine green tie and white shirt. He nodded his thanks and watched his father struggle with the cord. "Need a hand?"

"What I need is a pair of scissors." His father grumbled, still pulling at the plastic with little success.

Blaine reached into his pocket and offered a red Swiss army knife.

His father took it, but didn't immediately cut the plastic loose. He studied the knife with something akin to a smile. "You still carrying this thing around?"

"You gave it to me." Blaine smiled and shrugged. His father had given him the knife when he came home from a business trip two days late for Blaine's twelfth birthday. He'd told him it was a gift for a man, not a little boy, and to take care of it. He had kept it in his pocket almost every day since then.

His father studied it for a moment more before flipping out the thickest blade and slitting the plastic cord easily. He folded it back up and handed it back. He studied his son for a moment, lost in thought.

Blaine shifted from foot to foot, not liking the combination of the summer sun and his tie so tight around his neck. "Could you give me a ride to the coffee shop? I don't think it will take long, and mom's at her yoga thing."

John dug in his pocket and handed the keys over to Blaine. "Go ahead and take yourself."

Blaine nodded. "Thanks."

Before he could leave the garage, his father called after him. "And Blaine."

Blaine turned and instinctively caught what his father threw to him. It was his phone. He looked up at his father, not daring to ask the question that immediately came to his mind.

"You can go see your friend after your interview. Be back for dinner." His father wiped his arms on a dirtied rag.

"Thank you, sir." Blaine broke into a genuine smile and went to his car with an extra spring to his step. As soon as he was in his car, he turned up the air conditioning and dialed the first number that came to mind.

"I almost didn't recognize your name on my caller ID."

Blaine wanted to laugh for sheer joy at the sound of that voice. "_I _almost forgot your number. Thank God for a contacts list."

"Very funny." Blaine could hear the disdain in Kurt's voice and ached to be in his presence.

"So, I was a very good boy, and I have car and phone privileges back." Blaine glanced at the address he had written down for the place he was supposed to be meeting the colleague of a colleague. He really should have tried figuring out this guy's name before he was supposed to meet him for the interview… Bryan? Brad? Something with a B he was fairly sure…

"Are you still there?" Kurt sounded confused.

"Sorry, temporary distraction." Blaine turned onto the street the coffee shop was allegedly on.

"Something that distracts you more than me?" Kurt said, his voice sulky.

"Only very momentarily. I'm coming to see you this afternoon though, at which point there will be nothing that will be able to take my attention away from you." Blaine pulled into the little parking lot and checked his hair in the rearview mirror.

"Oh good, someone else to smother me." Kurt said sardonically, but then he added with a coy note, "I have a surprise for you."

"I need no surprises, just you." Blaine sat back in his seat for a moment, enjoying the familiar playful banter.

"Well lucky for you, you're getting both."

"I look forward to it. Listen, I gotta run, but I'll be in as soon as I can. Love you." Blaine had spied a man in a business suit at a table near the front window that he assumed was his contact.

He hung up, checked his hair one more time, straightened his tie, and made for the door.

The interview was a blur of pleasantries, questions about academics and extra-curriculars, plans for his major, and a few questions about current events. Blaine was anxious to get to the hospital as soon as he could, but he answered all of Greg's (apparently he'd been way off about the B name tangent) questions politely, asking a few of his own and admiring the pictures Greg had in his wallet of the fish he'd caught deep sea fishing two weeks earlier in Mexico. When the interview ended, Blaine had to keep himself from rushing to the door.

"An impressive resume, Mr. Anderson. If you keep up the good work, I'm sure Princeton would love to have you as an addition to the student body." Greg clapped him on the arm and offered his business card.

Blaine took it, insisted on paying for their coffee, and left as casually as he could. Once on the road though, he broke every speed limit and he was fairly sure rolling stop signs was at least frowned upon, but he didn't care. Greg wasn't there to judge him on his driving.

He hurried up the stairs to the third floor, but was intercepted by Rose- she had Winnie the Pooh scrubs on that day. She directed Blaine up another floor to J241; Kurt had been released from ICU and sent to a general ward. Blaine's happiness only increased at the news. He jogged up the extra flight of steps toward the new room, but when he turned down the hallway he saw Burt and a police officer. Burt was shouting.

Blaine waited a good twenty feet away, his hands in his pockets, while he waited for someone to take note of his presence.

The officer noticed him first, and upon seeing his focus broken, Burt turned toward Blaine too. His yelling came to an abrupt stop. He cleared his throat, "Hey, Blaine, nice to see you again. Go ahead and go in and see Kurt."

Blaine nodded, "Thank you, sir."

He moved quickly past the two men and slipped through the door; as soon as it clicked shut, the heated discussion outside resumed.

Kurt wasn't in the hospital bed. He was seated in a chair by the window, his right arm in a sling for his collarbone and his ankle in a boot, but he otherwise looked… entirely himself. He was even dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a maroon t-shirt.

Kurt whistled and appraised Blaine, "If I had know we were dressing up for this little rendezvous, I would have had one of the nurses help me put something more dashing on."

Blaine glanced down at his tie and shrugged. "College interview. And you look as adorable as ever."

"Already? For where?" Kurt studied Blaine. He looked…. Altered somehow. Not the same boy who had disappeared around the corner nearly a week ago.

"It was some friend of a friend of a brother of a cousin type thing for Princeton." Blaine shrugged and then grinned, "Enough about that; look at you, sitting up and out of bed and everything."

Kurt waggled his eyebrows and smiled coyly. "That's not all."

Blaine remained where he was and watched as Kurt struggled for a moment, but then- with a little wobbling- got to his feet. Blaine applauded and let out a relieved laugh. "I wasn't serious about you being back on your feet by the time I got back in here, you know; you've outdone yourself yet again, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt smiled, "I'd come over to you or take a bow or something, but I can't do much more than stand here for about a minute."

"That's a hell of a lot better than where you were last time I was in." Blaine closed the space between them. "Besides, I can always come to you."

Kurt braced himself on Blaine's shoulder to lean in for a kiss. He'd missed that familiar taste. Missed that familiar smell. When he pulled away, he lifted the tie to hold it close to Blaine's face. "I don't think I could have picked a color to go better with your eyes myself."

Blaine grinned. "Coming from you, that is one hell of a complement."

He helped ease Kurt back down into his chair before going to retrieve one for himself. He dragged it close enough so that he and Kurt's knees were touching. They stared at one another, grinning like fools, before Kurt finally spoke up. "So what elicited the grounding of Blaine Anderson?"

"I have attitude problems." Blaine smiled.

"What kind of attitude problems?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

Blaine shook his head and shrugged. "They're in the past; apparently I've reformed enough to be freed from detainment. How have you been?"

"Good. Mercedes and Rachel have been in almost everyday. Nadia stopped by; she's in the middle of some dance thing—I don't think she even drinks right now."

"She turns into a dance Nazi." Blaine shrugged. The shouting in the hallway had momentarily grown louder.

Kurt glanced toward the closed door before studying Blaine again. "I've had a lot of time to think mostly."

"Any ground breaking revelations?" Blaine smirked.

"Sort of…" Kurt stared into Blaine's eyes…why did they remind him of the day they were in the park? "There's something… different about you."

"Me?" Blaine raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Kurt nodded slowly, still looking Blaine over for some hint of what didn't feel right. "How have you been doing this week?"

"I sleep, I eat; I work." Blaine winked. "Good as I've ever been."

That was it. Kurt scrutinized Blaine's face. No tension, no nightmares locked just behind those hazel irises; there was only his mentor from the first day at Dalton. All smiles and reassurances and eyes that told him nothing. He kept his voice light, "You sleep now?"

Blaine nodded, "A very healthy seven to eight hours a night. I told you, I've been a very good boy."

"Your nightmares just went away?" Kurt said cynically.

Blaine shrugged, still smiling, "Just a little mind over matter. Yeah, I sleep great."

"If all you had to do was will them away, they would have been gone a long time before this, Blaine." Kurt touched a hand to his lover's knee.

"Would you feel better if I had the occasional bad dream rather than just go cold turkey on them?" Blaine raised an eyebrow, but his smile faltered.

"You know I didn't mean it like that… I'm glad you're sleeping, but… where'd this all come from so suddenly?" Kurt didn't miss the way Blaine's knees moved a centimeter or two away from his own.

"I'm getting pulled in a few too many directions right now, Kurt." Blaine frowned for the first time since he'd entered the room. "You want me to be happy and not beat myself up, and then you want me to stop acting so happy. Which would you prefer?"

"Blaine, please don't get mad at me." Kurt frowned sadly; this conversation was only going to get uglier.

Blaine sat quietly for a moment before smiling again slightly. "I'm not mad, I just don't really know what you want from me right now, Kurt."

Kurt sat back in his chair; his eyes went to the window to study the blue skies outside. He was silent.

Blaine pulled at his tie- suddenly a little too tight- and listened to the sound of the voices outside. He motioned with his free hand toward the noise, "What's that all about?"

Kurt looked toward the door again and then down at his lap. "Did you know they had Eric in custody?"

Blaine shook his head, careful to keep his features neutral.

"They had to turn him loose." Kurt ran a finger over the seam line of his sling.

"What? Why?" Blaine frowned, trying to quell a familiar sense of dread.

"Well… they had him on aggravated assault, but they can't charge him with it." Kurt was still staring intently toward his lap.

"What do you mean he can't be charged with it? He almost killed you."

"Well, yes, but… to be charged with aggravated assault, he would have to have been the one to initiate the attack."

"What are you saying?" Blaine studied him suspiciously.

"Blaine, I attacked him." Kurt sighed.

"You. You went out of your way to attack Eric Marlow."

"I told you it wasn't your fault." Kurt said softly.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Blaine's chair scraped against the linoleum as he abruptly rose to his feet, his anger too much for him to remain seated.

"I was just-"

"They could have killed you, Kurt! They could have fucking done anything to you, and you searched them out and fucking attacked them; you promised me you would leave this alone!" Blaine was shouting.

"Technically, I never actually promised you that," Kurt flinched at the sound of Blaine's voice. "And I didn't go _looking_ for them. I went for a drive to clear my head after I left your house, and they were just there."

"So you decided it would be a real fine idea to go socialize?" Blaine snapped, pacing the room to try and calm himself. "Jesus, Kurt."

"I was going to just leave, I swear I was." Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, sickened by the thought of how close he had come to avoiding all of this. "But Eric, he… he said some things about you, and I was so lost about how to help you, and those things he said, I guess I just sort of snapped…"

"What things he said?" Blaine suddenly stopped his pacing on the other side of the room, "What the hell could he possibly say to prompt you to think you could actually take on four guys twice your size?"

Kurt had spent much of his time over the past few days thinking about the boy who was absent from his bedside; working out the puzzle pieces as his body healed and his mind cleared. The more he thought, the more things fell into place, and the more things fell into place, the uglier the picture has become. And now, staring at those guarded eyes, Kurt saw it. "Blaine."

Blaine swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, already pulling himself back together. "I'm sorry, I just can't stand the idea of them hurting you, and the idea of you walking right into it-"

"Blaine." Kurt repeated softly. He could feel his heart beating hard against his mending ribs.

Blaine looked at Kurt expectantly.

"Blaine, I'm going to ask you something." Kurt kept his eyes on Blaine's, "And I need you to answer me."

Despite the distance already between them, Blaine took a step away from Kurt, sensing something dangerous. Something that shouldn't be touched.

Kurt ignored Blaine's small retreat. "Blaine, do you remember the first day we talked after I woke up?"

Blaine didn't move at first, but then nodded slowly.

"You asked me if… if they had done more than just hit me." Kurt swallowed hard.

Blaine was backing away again, already shaking his head.

"Blaine, did they do more than… hit _you_?"

Blaine clasped his hands over his ears. "God dammit, Kurt. Why does it have to be you?"

Kurt fell mute, watching Blaine as his hands moved from his ears to his eyes.

Blaine's hands dropped from his face, and he stared down at the floor. He was silent for a long time before his voice finally came, all of the previous anger gone, "Did you know I used to act?"

Kurt was caught off guard, but he nodded slowly.

"I was good." Blaine looked up, but not at Kurt, he gazed around the room. "I was really good."

"Blaine, I-"

Blaine ignored Kurt and moved toward the open bathroom door to study his reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. He cinched his tie back up and stared into his own eyes. "When I went to Dalton; that was my ultimate acting project—did you ever read _The Impressionist_ for school?"

Kurt's voice came out in a whisper, "No."

Blaine didn't seem to care; he turned to face Kurt. "I was going to be Jonathan Bridgeman. The final and most perfect impression of them all."

Kurt was frightened watching Blaine smooth his tie; his eyes focused on nothing.

"I pulled it off, too. For a year and a half, I was everything anyone could ever hope for me to be." Blaine flashed Kurt his mentor smile. "I did exactly what I was supposed to do, and I did it with a smile… And then there was you."

Kurt flinched at the tortured look on Blaine's face.

"You were going to be the piece de resistance on my character. I was going to prove I could leave my past behind me and even fix somebody else up along the way." Blaine dragged a hand through his hair, his curls coming loose from their neat styling. "But that's not how things went at all, was it?"

Kurt swallowed hard, but said nothing.

"The way you would look at me from that very first day… no one had ever looked at me like that. Like I was worthy of someone's adoration, like everything I had worked toward was finally paying off." Blaine's eyes settled on the black screen of the heart rate monitor for a moment. "I was so sure there was nothing left of me under the mask I created, but then- seeing you do Blackbird, and kissing you, and just _being_ with you—I couldn't tell where the lies stopped and reality started and it all started to blur together and things started coming out…and then the nightmares came back. I couldn't let some things in and keep other things out."

When Blaine turned to look at him again, Kurt felt the need to turn away from those lost eyes.

"I tried. I'm still trying, but you have to stop asking so many questions, Kurt. You are the one thing I can't get right when you keep asking me to tell you something, tell you something, tell you something. I can't do it." Blaine looked at himself in the mirror again.

Kurt was acutely aware of the silence, his father and the policeman had apparently moved elsewhere with their dispute. He kept his voice level as he stared at Blaine's eyes in the glass. "I'm going to keep asking, Blaine."

"Kurt, please." Blaine's eyes moved from his own reflection to Kurt's in the mirror.

"I need you to tell me the truth, Blaine, no more masks and no more running." Kurt's voice wavered.

"It's in the past; it's over now." Blaine was mumbling and shaking his head, his eyes leaving the silvery glass in front of him.

"Blaine. Tell me. I need to hear you say it." Kurt raised his voice in a desperate attempt to break down the wall Blaine was slowly putting back up between them.

"Why? Why can't we just pretend?" Blaine snarled, abruptly pivoting on his heel to glower at Kurt.

"Blaine." Kurt said, his tone a flat warning; he used all of his effort to mask the hysteria he felt rising in his throat.

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" Blaine was screaming, his eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

"You know, Blaine, you know!" Kurt screamed back, ignoring the hurt it caused in his chest. He clumsily got to his feet, somehow feeling more authoritative when he wasn't staring up at the other boy.

Blaine needed out. He needed out now. He started pacing again. "Kurt, leave it the fuck alone. Why can't you ever just leave these things alone?"

"Blaine, say it!" Kurt caught hold of Blaine's arm as he moved past him.

When Blaine tried to recoil from the hold, Kurt freed his arm from the sling despite the screaming protest of his clavicle, and grabbed a hold of Blaine's other arm. Blaine glared at him with such ferocity that Kurt nearly dropped his hold. "Let me go."

"No." Kurt said through gritted teeth. "We're done playing this game."

Blaine's expression went from angry to frantic. He couldn't shove Kurt away without hurting him, but he couldn't stand to be so close to that familiar presence, that presence that kept chipping away at his carefully constructed character. He couldn't keep mentally backing away with that body so near his own and he knew it, "Please, Kurt, _please_."

Kurt stared into Blaine's eyes and had a momentary flashback to the night in the back lot of the park.

"_It's that _look_ he gets. You know the one—his 'pretty, pretty please just let me go' face."_

Kurt saw it there now; Blaine's eyes- desperate and broken. He pulled the other boy closer against him. "I won't let you go."

Blaine suddenly seemed to forget Kurt's broken body; he struggled hard, his voice tense, "Kurt. Let. Me. Go."

Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine even tighter, his mouth pressed close to his ear. "I will _not_ let go."

Blaine continued to fight the hold around him, but now his body was shaking too, dulling the impact of his struggle, and a voice in his head screamed so loud he was afraid it might actually break loose.

"There is nothing you can say and nothing you can do that will make me let go of you. Not now. Not ever. I'm going to ask you one more time." Kurt kept his mouth beside Blaine's ear; his voice was even. "Did they rape you, Blaine?"

Blaine stilled in his struggles, but his body trembled against Kurt's.

"Blaine." Kurt murmured in his ear.

"Yes." His voice was a shuddery whisper.

There was the briefest suspension in time- a momentary intake of breath- and then reality crashed down on top of them.

Blaine's knees buckled, and Kurt slowly sank to the ground with him, still holding him close as sobs racked his body. He gripped a handful of Kurt's shirt, not sure of how to hold onto anything else in that moment.

"Oh God," Blaine couldn't remember the last time he had cried, though he knew he'd never allowed himself to shed tears over this, and now- collapsed in Kurt's arms- he cried harder than he could ever remember crying. His entire body hurt with it. "Oh God."

Kurt did not attempt to hush him. This hurt had been quiet long enough. He let Blaine fall apart on his shoulder, the only comfort he could think to offer was to hold him tighter. He didn't care about his screaming ribs and burning shoulder as he crushed Blaine's body close to his own; broken bones could be soothed later.

Some things hurt worse.

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**A/N: All right everybody, big deep breath in...and out. the big reveal finally happened; i wasnt going to include another A/N at the end of this chapter, but i just wanted to give a little heads up that, along with the editing process for eighteen, i ended up writing the back story for blaine's locker room/scar incident. i havent decided whether or not i want to include it...it might be just a little too dark...idk... just thought id give fair warning it might be coming if any of you are made uncomfortable by that and i promise if i do decide to include it as chapter 19 i will put a preface warning in my author's note on it incase some of you would rather skip it. thanks everybody for reading; you are all truly amazing **


	20. Chapter 19

**A/N: Based on some reviews and some personal reflecting on the matter, I decided to go ahead with the Blaine backstory. I intentionally kept this chapter exclusive to the scar incident so if anyone does decide they're uncomfortable reading this chapter and would rather skip it, they won't be missing any sort of current time Blaine/Kurt interaction or anything like that. As many of you may have noted by now, I tend to write through implication more than direct word-for-word details, so i feel this chapter isn't anything disturbingly graphic per say, but a dark subject nonetheless so I encourage you all to do what makes you most comfortable in terms of whether or not you want to read this; ummm... other than that, just a little reminder from chapter 8 pt. 2 in case you'd forgotten: blaine ended up in the locker room in the first place because he thought he was meeting with the soccer coach to discuss playing that season**

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**Chapter 19**

The fluorescents burned an ugly white, but the staff office was dark. Something wasn't right. Blaine strained his ears—the janitors must have fixed the leaky sink, there was no more slow, even drip sound coming from the bathroom. It was silent. Something about the stillness put Blaine even more on edge. He sensed the presence of other people. He knew he did.

_'Move. Get out of here.'_ His mind urged him. He took a few steps backward then pivoted on his heel to jog back up the stairs and into the main hall. Chris leaned in the doorway, studying him with a smile.

Blaine steadied himself; he nodded a polite hello as he walked toward the door.

Chris nodded back, "Hey, Blaine, where you off to?"

"Gotta get home." Blaine shrugged. Chris was blocking his only exit. "'Scuse me."

"Aw, come on, B, what's your hurry?" Max appeared from behind one of the locker banks, he settled himself down on one of the benches and smiled up at them.

Blaine felt a spike in his adrenaline. He stood perfectly still, looking between the two larger boys. His shoulders sagged briefly in resignation. "Where's Mikey?"

"Right here." Mikey came around the side of another locker bank.

Blaine let out a long breath. He was going to get his ass handed to him, that much was certain. He felt a familiar tickle of fear run up his spine when familiar arms slipped around his waist from behind. "I take it you got my letter, Blaine-y."

Blaine mentally kicked himself. Of course it had been Eric. He stood still beneath Eric's embrace; pulling away would only lead to a punch to his stomach, something he would rather put off for a while.

"I'm so glad you did. Don't worry about the soccer team; maybe next year." Eric let go of him and patted a hand on his shoulder.

"Maybe." Blaine glanced toward the door again, but Chris hadn't moved.

"You have somewhere you need to be, B?" Max followed Blaine's gaze.

Blaine wondered briefly if anyone would think to wonder where he was. His mother was at the country club, his father at work, his friends headed home… no one. "Just somewhere I'd rather be."

Mikey clasped a hand over his heart and grimaced. "Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings, Blaine."

Blaine took a quick inventory of their positions. Chris at the door, Mikey walking toward him, Max still at the lockers. Eric had seated himself on a bench, and he smiled briefly at Blaine when their eyes met.

A rough hand shoved Blaine back a few paces. Mikey had reached him. It would be over soon enough. He dodged around a bench that threatened to catch the back of his knees when Mike shoved him again. Mikey paused in his roughhousing to look to Eric. Eric nodded and waved a hand.

Mike pivoted back around, caught a handful of Blaine's shirt and slammed him against the nearest lockers. Blaine flinched a little, but didn't resist the assault. Mikey held him there for a minute before letting go and taking a step back. "Get on your knees."

Blaine frowned. "…What?"

"I said get on your knees. Now."

Blaine remained where he was, staring dumbly. This wasn't how things went.

Mikey sneered and sent a fist into Blaine's stomach, forcing his knees to buckle when all the oxygen escaped his lungs in one quick gasp. He tried to catch a breath in his burning chest but ended up coughing instead. "There, that's more like it."

Blaine tried to find his feet beneath him, but a sharp kick to his shoulder sent him back down to the floor. "When he tells you to do something, you fucking do it. Stay down."

Blaine stared up at the other two. Yes, this shoving, punching, kicking; this ganging up, it made more sense than a strange request to kneel before them. He waited to see who would come at him next. Mikey and Max were exchanging looks, a silent conversation over who would act. Max leaned over and grabbed the front of Blaine's shirt, pulling at him until he was kneeling the way he did when he went to church with his grandmother. "There, that's better."

Mikey reached down, but he didn't throw a punch or even make a grab for Blaine. He unzipped his jeans.

Blaine stared up at him in confusion. What was this?

"You're a fag, aren't you, B?" Mikey motioned toward his exposed boxers. "Go on then."

Blaine felt nauseous. He shook his head dumbly. This wasn't happening.

"We're waiting, Blaine." Eric called from where he still sat.

Blaine kept shaking his head; words were beyond him in that moment.

Max hauled him to his feet and sent a hard punch to his mouth.

"Watch the face, Max." Eric warned.

"Listen you punkass little faggot. When we tell you to do something. You do it. If you don't, I swear to God, I'll break every bone in your scrawny little body." There was an edge to Max's voice Blaine wasn't used to. A certain steeliness that felt urgent.

Blaine tasted a familiar metallic warmth in his mouth. Blood. He swallowed it down as Max forced him back to the floor, his knees making a loud cracking sound on the tile.

Mikey stepped forward once more and Blaine looked up at him pleadingly. He and Mike had been on the same little league team three years in a row, he couldn't possibly do this to him, "Mike…please…"

"You wanna chat with Max again or are you going to do this?" Mike didn't wait for a response; he grabbed Blaine's hair in his hand and forced him forward.

Blaine's mind went momentarily numb; his only thought was to wonder briefly if they'd kill him for throwing up all over him. He decided they would.

When it was over, he sat back against the locker banks, drawing his knees to his chest and fighting off the urge to gag. He prayed to anything that would listen that he wouldn't have to do it for the others. Mikey zipped his pants and grinned at the others. "I've had better."

"He just needs practice." Chris straightened from the door and stalked toward them, his hands already moving toward his fly.

Blaine gritted his teeth and shoved himself a few inches backward; his back pressed hard against the cold metal. He wouldn't do it again. He couldn't.

"Not today, Chris." Eric was studying Blaine.

Blaine looked to Eric and couldn't help but feel grateful. He'd rather have the shit kicked out of him than go through that again. Eric stood, rolling one shoulder and then the other before making his way toward the pack. He bent over, his hands resting above his knees to study Blaine's face. His voice was soft when he finally spoke. "Come on then and stand up, Blaine."

Blaine stared at him nervously. He didn't understand any of this anymore, let alone Eric's intentions.

"I'm not going to hit you, stupid, just get up off the floor." Eric straightened up and offered a hand toward the smaller boy still huddled in front of him.

Blaine ignored the hand, but shakily got to his feet. He glanced to the unguarded exit, but Chris still stood in his path. He looked around at the group; they all looked to Eric, and Eric looked to Blaine. "Go wash your mouth out."

Blaine remained where he was for a moment, on guard.

Eric pointed toward the bathroom stalls. "Go on."

Blaine glanced over his shoulder constantly as he made his way toward the line of sinks. The others simply stared back. He did as instructed and glanced at himself in the mirror. Pale skin and a split lip stared back. Great, how was he supposed to explain that to his mother? Eric's face appeared behind his in the mirror. "Better?"

Blaine studied him briefly before nodding slowly.

"Good." Eric pressed a hand into the small of Blaine's back, gently guiding him back toward the others.

Blaine sensed it again as he stared at their faces. Something more…_sinister_ was lurking there than usual. Something more than a few bruises to his ribs and swollen knees. He stopped in his tracks.

"Blaine." Eric's voice was a flat warning. But Blaine didn't move.

"I'll ask you one more time, Blaine. Keep going." Eric didn't shove him the way the others did, his hand simply rested on his back.

Blaine turned his head to study Eric's face for some hint of what was going on. His feet remained firmly in place.

"No?" Eric stared back, then sighed. "I'm sorry it has to be like this, B."

Chris and Mikey were suddenly there. Both forming firms holds on each of his arms. They dragged him toward the far wall of the room and pinned his back against the cinder block wall.

Eric sat down on the bench in front of him, his elbows rested casually on his knees as he looked up at Blaine. "We've been buddies for awhile now, haven't we Blaine—you and me and the boys, I mean?"

Blaine remained still between his captors.

"Well, since we've been so close for such a long time, I thought maybe you could tell us some…. personal stuff." Eric glanced toward the others for confirmation.

The other three bobbed their heads in agreement.

"Have you ever kissed a boy, Blaine?"

Blaine felt his cheeks turn hot, but he kept his mouth tightly shut.

Chris laughed as he stared at his face. "I think that can be construed as a yes."

Eric smiled mildly and got to his feet, moving a few feet closer to Blaine, "Messed around with a boy?"

"He has now." Max set the others off in a round of laughter.

Eric didn't laugh; he ignored the group and cupped Blaine's cheeks between both his hands, his face inches from Blaine's, "Fucked a boy?"

Blaine felt sick; he looked away from Eric's eyes and over his shoulder, letting his eyes settle on the teal plastic front of a combination lock on one of the lockers.

Eric chuckled and released his face, "I didn't think so."

Suddenly his captors twisted him around, pressing his face and stomach against the cold cement wall. Blaine struggled only briefly before giving up at trying to free himself from their vice-like grips. He was at a loss once again, his thoughts raced to grasp what was happening.

The two bigger boys slackened their hold just a little, and familiar arms reached around Blaine, but rather than hug against his stomach, fingers pressed downward, unbuttoning his jeans. A rush of comprehension and a surge of panic ignited every synapse in his head. Blaine fought back so fiercely and so suddenly, he was able to break free from his captors. He made a desperate dash toward the door, but Max was in front of him all too soon. He caught an arm around Blaine's middle and dragged him backward. When Blaine still scrambled forward, Chris sent a hard punch to his ribs.

Blaine didn't care. They could hit him as much as they wanted, he was getting out of there. He fought back hard, but then Mikey came to his comrades aid; three jocks against one small drama kid. Still, he writhed his way out from under their hold and their punches.

"Enough." Eric snapped. But, for once, Blaine disregarded him entirely. Adrenaline pumped through his veins with such intensity that it made his ears ring. He threw a punch that landed neatly on Eric's face.

For a moment, the struggle stopped. Blaine pinned between Chris and Max, and all of them staring in awe at what Blaine had done.

A crimson line slid from Eric's nose. He wiped his face and studied the blood streaked across his fingers for a moment before looking back to Blaine. "You want to play rough then, Blaine? That's fine by me."

Blaine renewed his struggle with even greater urgency as Eric stalked toward him. He was going to kill him; he had no doubt in his mind.

Four to one. It was over. Blaine let out a scream, desperate for someone, _anyone_ to save him. Suddenly, he heard a strange sound- a loud cracking. There was a flash; then darkness.

* * *

_A nightmare_. It had to be; he saw everything through a red-tinted lens. He thought back to the lecture from his Psychology class on dreams and seeing them in different colors. Yellow was happiness, violet was spirituality... but what was red?Stars too, he could see stars. He tried to count them to steady his swimming head, but they moved in and out of his vision, evading the numbers he tried to assign them... But if this was a dream, and there were stars, why did he still hurt so much? Why did the hurt just _keep_ coming over and over again?

He moaned as his head started to set itself right. It wasn't over. He longed for the hazy confusion of his unconsciousness to return, but only the red in his vision remained as a reminder of any escape from reality. He could hear voices chatting behind him, he wasn't sure whose though, he was too focused on whoever currently pinned him against the cold wall, rhythmically pushing him harder against the cement. Finally, the person—whoever he was—pulled away. Blaine felt his knees buckle beneath him; the linoleum at his cheek soothed his pounding head for a moment.

A fuzzy thought informed him Eric had offered no protection from the onslaught of the entire group this time, but when the thread of thought continued, Blaine squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears, hoping to drown that little voice out; he didn't want to remember more than he had to. The voices around him continued so he tried to focus on them instead.

"- Probably shouldn't have hit him that hard—"

"—If we leave him and someone finds him—"

"—He's a fucking mess—"

"—He could tell—"

"He won't." Eric's voice. He knew that one. Black Nikes appeared in his vision, "Blaine, get up."

Blaine stared vacantly at the shoes and didn't move.

"Blaine, you stupid faggot, get the fuck up." Mikey's voice sounded panicky; he kicked the smaller boy sharply in the stomach.

Blaine cringed, but only curled his knees up toward his middle in a feeble attempt to protect himself from any further blows.

"You idiot, that only makes things worse." Eric snapped, shoving the larger boy away.

Blaine wanted to remain exactly where he was. Let the blood blind him and the hurt consume him. He didn't know what he had left worth getting up for, but then suddenly he was being hauled up into a sitting position. He groaned when the world spun around him, and _Jesus_ it hurt to sit like that.

"Come on, Blaine-y Boy, up and at 'em." Eric patted him on the cheek. "Can't just sit here."

Blaine lifted a shaky hand toward his face to wipe the blood from his eyes, but he couldn't coordinate the movement. His hand dropped back to his side.

"You got a pretty nasty little cut on your forehead there, kiddo; probably a nice concussion to go with it; you need to puke?" Eric's face was a blur in front of him. "Max, get him to the bathroom. He'll feel better once he pukes."

Blaine didn't resist when a pair of strong arms dragged him toward a bathroom stall. He felt a burning in his throat, a constriction of muscles in his chest. Eric had been right, his mind cleared a bit after he was sick, but it only sharpened the pain. Everything hurt.

Max's voice sounded nervous as he half-dragged Blaine back to the main changing area. "Shit, Eric."

"Hush." Eric replied. "On your feet, Blaine, come on."

Blaine tried to straighten himself up, but he felt a strange disconnect from his feet. He slumped against the nearest locker bank, his fingers pressed into the grates for a hold, but, slippery with blood and still lacking coordination, they quickly lost their grip. Despite his best efforts, he ended up back on the floor.

"Blaine, you're going to do exactly what I say." Eric knelt down and roughly wiped at his face with a paper towel. His vision cleared a little. "You're going to wash your face, find your locker, change your shirt, and you're going to go home. Got it?"

Blaine's eyes wandered around the room. Where was his locker? He shook his head, but then stopped- he felt like his brain was being jarred with every movement.

Eric grabbed a hold of his chin and jerked his head so their eyes could meet. "What's going to happen if someone sees you Blaine, huh? I'll tell you what: they'll send you to the hospital, the police will come, and they'll tell your sweet mama. You want to put her through knowing about any of this?"

"No." Blaine's voice came out in a raspy whisper.

"What about your dad; you think he's going to be _so_ proud of his faggot son for going and letting this happen?"

Blaine didn't respond. He found a grip on the bench nearest him and shakily pulled himself to his knees, he had to lean his shoulder into the lockers to get himself all the way to his feet, but once upright, he pushed off of them clumsily and found his center of balance. Eric was right. They couldn't know.

"Good boy." Eric clapped a hand on his shoulder, causing Blaine to stumble a little. "Chris, he's never going to remember his locker combo. Pick the lock to the office and get him an extra gym shirt."

It was a slow process, and one Blaine wasn't entirely sure he remembered, but finally he was being dropped off from Max's Escalade outside the side of the Seven Eleven. Three butterfly band-aids just barely held his forehead together and before they drove off, Eric repeated his instructions to not go to sleep anytime soon.

Blaine tried to sit down on the curb, but the sharp pain that shot up his spine reminded him that sitting wasn't an option. He stood leaned against a burned out lamppost, his eyes on the giant glowing digital clock below the gas prices; he had thirty-seven minutes until he could slip into the house unnoticed. As he waited for the minutes to tick by, his head cleared and his memories slipped in like the tides- slowly rising forward on him until he felt an all too familiar rush of panic as they began to drown him. He directed his eyes up and started counting; he wanted to squeeze his eyes shut against the onslaught of flashbacks that cleared like Polaroids in his head, but he kept his eyes focused on the lights above. Soon a rhythm of numbers took over his thoughts, and even when the thirty-seven minutes were up, he remained where he was. Counting, counting; counting. Finally, as the lights inside the gas station dimmed and the traffic passing the station thinned, Blaine slowly walked the nine blocks home.

He tiptoed through the door easily enough, but the stairs were their own obstacle entirely. He closed his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth against the scream that threatened to break loose with every step, but somehow he managed to end up in his room. He dropped down onto his bed and let the world spin and blur around him. Despite his exhaustion, he feared sleep—not knowing what memories of that afternoon his unconscious would let slip out and force him to confront, but then, slowly but surely, he found himself not caring.

His life had become a waking nightmare; no monsters of the night could frighten him more.

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A/N: Not a fun chapter to write :/, but I'll be back soon with something from our present day Kurt and Blaine. As always, thank you to everyone for reading.


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N: Hey all, I had planned on updating a lot sooner but was held back by two extenuating circumstances: 1) I was without internet since Friday but more importantly 2) I had a hell of a time writing this chapter. what im putting up today is the FOURTH attempt at trying to come up with a chapter to follow up 19. And im not talking about three or four rewrites, im talking about four completely _different_ chapters before this one finally got hashed out, so sorry for the wait but I was just not at all feeling attempts one through three; hopefully fourth times the charm and you guys enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee**

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**Chapter 20**

If someone were to ask Kurt Hummel if, given the chance, he would do it all over again, Kurt wouldn't know how to answer. Blaine was no longer Blaine. Slammed doors made him jump, a hand on his shoulder was quickly recoiled from, and a smile was a rarity Kurt greeted with relief. Would Kurt do it again- force Blaine to let his demons out from behind bars for them to study out in the open?

Kurt scrutinized the boy reclined beside him on the hospital bed, those once vivacious hazel eyes were focused on the far wall, lost in some world Kurt couldn't follow to. He touched Blaine's arm- trying to ignore the immediate tenseness it ignited in his lover, "Where are you today?"

Blaine's eyes drifted toward him, "Nowhere. Just thinking."

"How was work?" Kurt ventured, running his nails lightly over the exposed skin of Blaine's arm.

Blaine frowned, "The dean's not happy with me."

"Inappropriate song selection for a tour group?" Kurt teased. He had hoped to elicit a smile, but Blaine relaxing slightly beside him was almost as good.

"Not exactly," Blaine's eyes went back toward the wall. "Apparently my lack of enthusiasm doesn't do much for recruiting new Dalton students."

Kurt frowned, he closed his fingers around Blaine's forearm and squeezed lightly, "Enthusiasm is what you do best."

"I-" Blaine sighed and fell silent.

Kurt brushed his thumb across the soft skin on the inside of Blaine's arm. "You what?"

Blaine seemed to come back to himself for a moment; he gently pulled Kurt's hand into both of his and massaged his palm lightly, his head dropping down onto Kurt's shoulder, "I'm just… stuck."

Kurt felt an ache in his heart both good and bad- the sudden show of affection was a warm relief, but Blaine's voice was as lost as it had been all week. "You'll get unstuck; you're doing better already."

Blaine didn't reply, he worked his fingers over Kurt's hand, his eyes focused on their fingers.

Kurt closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the top of Blaine's head, inhaling the clean smell of his hair. Like this, he could pretend nothing had changed. He could pretend it was the first morning of summer and he and Blaine were still in bed together basking in nothing but the warmth of the other's presence. But things _had_ changed. He was in a hospital bed, but while he healed, Blaine spiraled downward. Kurt opened his eyes and turned his cheek into the soft, dark curls, "I love you; you know that, right?"

Blaine's hands stopped their work and closed around Kurt's, trapping it between his palms. "I won't pretend to understand why; but yes, I know that."

Kurt frowned and lifted his head from Blaine's to study the other boy's face. "How could I not?"

Blaine's tilted his face up toward Kurt so their eyes could meet, but his head remained on his shoulder. Those eyes told Kurt more than any words ever could.

He pulled his hand free from Blaine's hold, pressed his palm to Blaine's cheek and his lips to the scar on his forehead. "I loved you at your best and I'll love you at your worst until you find your feet again."

"What if I can't?" Blaine's eyes searched Kurt's, "What if this is all I can be?"

"They didn't make you and they didn't break you, Blaine. I know you're still there." Kurt brushed a thumb across Blaine's scruffy cheek.

Blaine pressed his hand against Kurt's and closed his eyes. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

"I try to be what you deserve." Kurt settled back against the pillows and pulled Blaine closer, his ribs aching only slightly in protest.

Blaine smiled weakly for him, "I love you, too."

Switching roles had been strange to Kurt. Blaine who had always been the one to know exactly what to say and just when to squeeze his hand when Kurt's confidence was shaking, was suddenly the one who needed someone's hand to hold and smile to remind him he was still capable of something. Kurt stumbled blindly through the role, a rescue worker searching the rubble of an earthquake he had created, but every once in awhile; he found some beautiful piece of hope in all that wreckage. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Blaine's mouth. "Are you going to read to me?"

Blaine pulled a dog-eared novel from the nightstand, thumbing through the pages to where they'd left off. When Kurt had asked him to bring in _The Impressionist_ the day after the breakdown, Blaine had studied him curiously for a long moment before agreeing to bring it with after work the next day. They'd sat together for hours each day, Blaine reading the pages aloud, his body relaxed beside Kurt's like it hadn't been in weeks while Kurt enjoyed the sound of Blaine's voice.

He'd taken it for granted- that endless, mindless chatter. Kurt had never stopped to consider how much he loved the sound of Blaine's voice. Fast-paced and loud when he was excited, stumbling over his words to get them all out as fast as his ideas formed. A warm, deep note when he murmured reassurances into Kurt's ear; breathy and rough in the throws of passion. Kurt had never thought that that sweet melody of endless words might grow quiet. But now, Blaine's words were few and far between, lacking the inflections that had once made Kurt laugh and smile and blush. So that stream of words in that sweet tenor- even if they were only the echoes of print on pages—was like a drug for Kurt.

"You two might be the cutest, most boring couple I have ever seen."

Blaine startled at the sound of the female voice, his eyes flying from the pages of the book to the doorway.

Kurt settled him with a hand on his arm, but smiled at his newest visitor. "How kind of you to finally grace us with your presence."

Nadia smiled and strode across the room to plant kisses on both boys' cheeks. "Not my fault that I've been in such high demand."

Blaine had relaxed again beside Kurt, "How was the recital?"

"Brilliant." Nadia climbed onto the end of the bed, lifting both Kurt's casted and good feet into her lap, she eyed the unadorned black plaster. "Are you sure I can't sign this?"

"We are not seven years-old, and I don't trust you to write something I'm comfortable having stuck to my leg for another five weeks." Kurt rolled his eyes.

Nadia pouted briefly, but then reached over to squeeze one of Blaine's feet. "Why the long face, Honey Bee?"

Blaine forced a quick smile for her. "Just tired."

"Maybe you'd feel a little more lively if you two did something besides cuddle and read like a retired couple." Nadia tickled Kurt's good foot.

Kurt made a face at her and tried to pull free of her grip, "There's sex in the book, N, I'm sure even you could enjoy it."

Nadia leaned forward and snatched the book from Blaine's lap; she frowned at Blaine, "You're reading this _again_, Blaine?"

Blaine shrugged, "Kurt's never read it."

Nadia turned her attention to Kurt and smiled confidingly. "Don't ever give Blaine a good book. He'll read it five times and tote it around with you guys everywhere."

Kurt smiled affectionately at Blaine, "I think it's sweet. I'll be on the look out for Blaine-worthy novels once I'm out of here."

"_If_ you ever get out of here." Nadia tapped her fingers on the cast.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Kurt rolled his eyes, "And I'll have you know I have been promised my freedom if I make the PT happy this afternoon."

"You didn't tell me that." Blaine raised his eyebrows.

"We don't ever talk about my physical therapy sessions. I guess I just sort of forgot to mention it." Kurt shrugged as casually as he could. In truth, he never told Blaine about the sessions—they were as grueling emotionally as they were physically, a stressor Kurt had never felt the need to put on Blaine after seeing his reaction to the rib check-up early in the hospital stay.

"Well, it's good news, right?" Blaine smiled hopefully.

Kurt felt like his heart broke a little at the sight of that smile; he squeezed Blaine's hand in his. "Yes, Blaine; it's very good."

"Can we stay for it and be cheerleaders?" Nadia squeezed Kurt's foot between both hands.

"You're going to break my other foot and then the whole thing will be moot." Kurt pulled his foot free from Nadia once again. He glanced at Blaine who was looking hopefully at him still. "Sure, you can stay."

Nadia clapped her hands together. "Excellent. All right, now I have big, giant, magnificent news and I have you, Kurt Hummel, to thank for it."

Kurt raised his eyebrows and glanced around the hospital room, "You know I haven't made it past the end of the hallway for weeks, right?"

"You moved floors." Blaine murmured. Kurt glanced his ways, hoping for a playful smile, but Blaine was apparently quite serious in his comment. His eyes were following a nurse passing Kurt's doorway.

"After you got yourself holed up in here, and you wouldn't wake up and he was a mess, and I didn't know what to do, so…" Nadia twisted an aqua tinted feather from her hair around her finger, "I danced."

"You always dance." Kurt quipped, glancing at Blaine to see if he was at least paying attention. He was pleased to find the dark haired boy's eyes on the girl seated across from them.

Nadia made a sound of irritation, shaking her head; "I mean I choreographed my solo routine. It was to 'I Need a Doctor'."

"If this is some sort of implied call for help, I would be happy to give up my time with the psychiatrist to you." Kurt smiled briefly.

"Seriously; could you two cut me a break for like a fucking second?" Nadia pulled her purse into her lap to dig through.

"All right, fine; what's the big news then?" Kurt rubbed at a spot on his neck where the strap of his sling had scratched his skin raw.

"My instructors liked the routine so much, they told me to take it to competition, and the competition judges liked it so much, they gave me first for my division and sent me to a bigger competition, and the judges there loved it too." Nadia's eyes were on her lap, a smile pulling at her mouth so much she couldn't possibly hide it.

"So they gave you first, too?" Kurt guessed with a grin.

Nadia shook her head, her voice shook, "It's so much better."

"I was unaware of a slot above first in competitions." Kurt quirked an eyebrow.

"They gave me this." Nadia held out a brochure to the boys. "It wasn't a competition really; it was an audition for a scholarship."

Blaine took it from her and fanned it out for he and Kurt to study. It was for a dance prep school on the west coast.

"I'm in." Nadia whispered, then laughed. "I'm into their prep program for next year then they help you find a spot in an undergrad program when you graduate!"

"Nadia, that's wonderful!" Kurt reached out his free arm to her to squeeze her hand in his.

"You're getting out, N." Blaine smiled weakly, his eyes moving from the pamphlet to her.

"I'm getting out." Nadia's eyes shone with tears, "We actually did it, B. We're free."

Kurt did not miss the falter in Blaine's smile or the fact that he remained mute.

Nadia, in all her euphoria, did not seem to notice Blaine's silence, her attention turned back to Kurt, "So, Kurt Hummel, thank you for fucking up your life enough to save me from mine."

"I'd say anytime, but I'd really rather not make a habit of this whole thing." Kurt squeezed Nadia's hand once before letting go.

Nadia prattled on about the routine, about Kent Dance Prep, and about anything else that came to mind. Despite her bliss, her eyes drifted to Blaine's face more and more as time passed, her tone became more subdued, and then she suddenly cut herself off entirely. "Talk."

"Excuse me?" Kurt frowned.

"Not you. Him." Nadia tilted her head to meet Blaine's eyes. "What happened, B?"

Blaine looked startled, "Nothing. I just don't have anything to say."

"Bullshit. The only time you don't have anything to say is when something's eating at you. Spill."

"He had a migraine when he came in; he hasn't had a lot to say all day." Kurt lied smoothly. He'd used the same excuse on countless others who had suddenly become uncomfortable in the presence of such a somber side of Blaine. Only Burt Hummel had ever thought to frown and study Blaine's face cynically before begrudgingly accepting the headache anecdote.

Nadia, too, seemed suspicious. She leaned forward to touch a hand to Blaine's forehead. He flinched and shied away from the touch. "Don't baby me, N. I'm just not feeling well right now. Show us a part of your routine."

Nadia dropped her hand into her lap and studied Blaine for another moment before nodding slowly and climbing off the bed. She shoved the few small pieces of furniture against the furthest wall, complaining the entire time she wouldn't be able to do any movement in a space so small.

Despite her displeasure at the room's size, Kurt was mesmerized by the fluid movements; the raw emotion. He momentarily regretted quitting his ballet lessons when he was six.

"I hope you're planning on showing me something similar today, Kurt." A man in navy scrubs leaned in the doorway, his eyes moving from Nadia to Kurt with a grin.

"Something comparable." Kurt smiled back, he motioned a hand toward his companions. "This is Nadia and Blaine. This is Justin, my PT."

Nadia stopped in her routine to greet Justin with a coy smile and an extended hand. "So you're the angel putting our little Kurt back together again."

Justin didn't seem bothered by Nadia's flirtatiousness. He shook her hand heartily, "I don't have him quite to where you are, but it's a work in progress."

"Give me a few more days." Kurt was already shifting toward the edge of the bed, "Usually the nurse brings me to you; what's the occasion?"

"My two o' clock cancelled, so I had a little free time on my hands. You look ready to go." Justin dragged a wheelchair toward the bed where Kurt already had his feet already slung over the side.

"Born ready." Kurt smoothed his hair with a quick flit of his fingers as he settled into the chair.

"That's what I like to hear." Justin looked at Blaine still seated on the edge of the bed. "Is your entourage coming?"

"We're here to play cheerleaders today." Nadia demonstrated a quick cheer kick, her hands fluffing imaginary pom-poms together. "Go; fight; win."

Justin laughed, "Fine by me if it's fine by him."

Kurt nodded briefly, he glanced at Blaine, "You want to come, don't you?"

Blaine nodded; he slipped off the bed and padded alongside Kurt's chair.

Nadia flirted mercilessly with Justin as they moved down the hall toward the PT room, her voice an endless stream of bouncing notes and giggles. Blaine was mute at Kurt's side, his eyes following passing nurses and opening doors. Kurt reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Your dad not around today, Kurt?" Justin asked coolly as they turned into an open door.

"He finally had to go back to work full time." Kurt rolled his eyes. "He's called three times today."

"Well, make me proud this afternoon and he can hover over you endlessly in the comfort of your own home." Justin put the breaks down on the chair.

"Gee, how motivating." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"If you two just wanna take a seat over there, that'd be great." Justin motioned to a row of plastic chairs against the far wall.

Nadia and Blaine sat down in their designated spot to observe.

"All right, Kurt—" Justin's eyes were on a clipboard he'd pulled from a crate filled with identical wooden plaques.

Kurt shrugged his shoulders up and down five times, throwing Justin a withering look.

Justin laughed and wrote something in his notes, "All right, I get it; you know the routine. Just for that though, we're going to switch it up."

"Fine." Kurt sighed, "What next?"

"You think you still need that thing?" Justin nodded toward the sling.

"You're the professional. You tell me." Kurt rubbed at the raw spot on his neck again.

"I say lets get it the hell out of here." Justin reached around Kurt's back to pull the strap from behind his neck. "How's that feeling?"

Kurt flexed his arm at the elbow a few times, rolled the shoulder and ignored the dull ache it elicited. "Good. Great."

"All right, show me what you can do with it. Both arms out front." Justin led Kurt through a set of movements- his arms out one way and then the other, squeeze a tennis ball, throw the ball, and flex at the elbow.

Kurt threw Blaine a wink as he flexed the newly freed arm. "Impressive, right?"

A shadow of a smile graced Blaine's mouth, he was watching intently, "_Very_ impressive."

Nadia clapped her hands together and cheered loudly.

"I'm giving you the all clear on the collar bone," Justin scribbled something on the clipboard. "How about your feet? How are you feeling about them?"

Kurt glanced down at his feet. This had been what he'd kept quiet from Blaine—standing still was one thing, walking had not been coming so easily, "I guess we'll find out."

"Good sport." Justin had learned early on not to ruffle Kurt's hair, so he clapped his hands together in a show of enthusiasm instead. He knelt down in front of Kurt's chair. "Cast-free foot, please."

Kurt lifted it into Justin's palms easily. He kept a passive face as Justin pressed his foot forward and back; bending his leg at the knee. When he asked Kurt to press his foot back against his palm, Kurt had to lock his jaw to keep from flinching just a little.

"That's all right?" Justin eyed Kurt suspiciously as he pressed against his foot a little harder.

"It's fine." Kurt replied flatly.

"I'm not gonna bump you a letter grade if it hurts a bit." Justin glanced over his shoulder toward Blaine, "You know this kid pretty well; is he lying to me?"

Blaine looked surprised to be addressed; his eyes went questioningly to Kurt.

Kurt let out an irritated sigh, "Fine, it hurts a little."

Justin nodded, "That's all right. It's going to hurt for a while until your middle heals up all the way. Other foot."

Kurt lifted the more awkward limb to Justin's hands; when Justin pushed it in toward his stomach, Kurt couldn't cover the grimace it elicited.

"How bad is it still hurting?" Justin let the pressure off the leg, slowly lowering it back to the wheelchair's footrest.

"On a scale?" Kurt glanced toward Nadia and Blaine.

"One to ten." Justin nodded.

"Six-point-six." Kurt mumbled.

"What's the highest you could be at to give walking another shot today?" Justin sat back on his heels.

"Something much higher." Kurt said determinedly.

"Don't push it too hard, Kurt." Blaine's voice was soft.

Kurt met his boyfriend's eyes. "I'm not."

Justin nodded; he lowered the footrests on the wheelchair, "We'll take it slow and see what happens. Let's get you on your feet before we try anything else."

Kurt got himself up easily enough, enjoying the added support of his liberated arm. He stood in place while Justin watched the second hand on the clock go around twice. "Do I pass?"

"Yeah, you get a shiny gold star for being upright." Justin walked over to a tall cabinet, he pulled a cane with a wrist strap from its contents and brought it over to Kurt, "All right, so I know the crutch didn't work out… at all. So we're gonna try something different."

"Do tell." Kurt peered curiously at the newest attempt at promoting his mobility.

Justin took Kurt's wrist in his hand, "So these two little straps go around your wrist here, and then you hold it just like a regular cane."

Kurt studied the thing for a moment, pressing a little weight down on it.

"We should get you one of those real classy ones with the pewter heads. Blaine's Dalton uniform will pale in comparison." Nadia smiled.

"Let's give this guy a shot first." Justin cleared a few things from the space between Kurt's position in the middle of the room and the wall, and then studied the newly opened space with a frown. "New plan; sit down for a sec."

Kurt settled back down into his wheelchair, "What are we going to do?"

Justin grabbed a hold of the handles and dragged the chair back until its back was against the opposite wall. "Bigger work space."

"You're joking, right?" Kurt felt a pang of anxiety studying the twenty or so feet between himself and the far wall.

"You want out of here, right?" Justin quirked an eyebrow, "I'm assuming you live in something bigger than a five-by-five square."

Kurt shot Justin an irritated scowl, "How far do you want me to go?"

"You like that handsome guy over there, don't you?" Justin smiled briefly.

"Yes, what's your point?" Kurt snapped.

"So go get him." Justin winked.

"You're not serious." Kurt sat back in his chair, beginning to resign himself to another week in J241.

"As a heart attack. Come on, Kurt, how bad do you want this?"

Kurt met Blaine's eyes and the two stared at one another in silence.

Blaine rose to his feet; he smiled, "Come on, then."

That smile was enough to make Kurt at least want to try; he shoved himself back to his feet.

"Thatta boy." Justin took a step closer to him. "Remember, I'm right here if you slip up; just take it slow."

Kurt's eyes went to the floor to study his feet. He shifted the good one forward and then the casted one. He paused and was relieved to feel no shakiness in his knees; no pain making him dizzy enough to drop to the floor.

"There's one." Justin encouraged.

"Come on, Kurt." Nadia cheered and clapped her hands together, but remained seated.

Kurt took a few more tentative shuffles forward, a dull ache forming in his abdomen; his right knee trembled just a little. He glanced up and was a little devastated to see he'd only covered about a foot of space. But Blaine's eyes were focused entirely on him, showing no signs of drifting away to some lost memory.

Kurt held that eye contact as he pushed himself forward; when the pain intensified, he kept going. He wavered briefly at the halfway point. He let out a breath he'd been holding.

"Kurt, if—" Justin touched a hand to his arm.

"I'm fine." Kurt bit out, but when he took another three steps, he stumbled. He pressed his weight into the crutch to steady himself.

Blaine made to move toward him.

"Don't." Kurt held Blaine's gaze. "Don't move."

Blaine reluctantly took two steps back; his brow knit in concern.

Kurt inhaled deeply, trying to find some secret source of strength within himself. He remembered wet cement; the footrest of his car; the sound of rain. He'd made it through that. He could do this. He moved forward.

He held onto nothing but that memory; drowning everything else out until suddenly he had stumbled again, but he didn't need to overcorrect with the cane. Familiar arms caught a hold of his. And then laughter. Beautiful, perfect laughter.

Nadia jumped to her feet, shrieking with excitement, "Kurt, you were brilliant!"

Justin was applauding too, but Kurt didn't care. All he cared about was the wonderful sound of that laugh, and the happiness in the hazel eyes in front of him.

Kurt smiled, feeling almost near tears. He wrapped his arms around Blaine and whispered in his ear. "I told you you're still in there."

Would Kurt do it again if he could redo it all? Force that glass wall to shatter?

Absolutely.

* * *

**A/N: Ugh, I am so resentful of this chapter simply because it was such a bitch to hash out. hope you guys enjoyed despite my writers block! I know where im going with all of this, so hopefully now that I made it through this little mess I can keep the ball rolling and get you guys 21 a little faster. thanks for reading :) :)**


	22. Chapter 21

A/N: Hey there boys and girls, I have 21 ready to go so here she be... I can't really think of anything specific I want to say up here today, so I guess just read and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee

* * *

**Chapter 21**

Kurt awoke to the sound of screaming. Not low, disgruntled moans. Full-blown screams and another voice shouting back. Something held his arms, and when he tried to pry away from the hold, it remained strong, and everything was just so fucking loud- a cacophony of incoherent cries into the blackness surrounding him.

"Kurt, Kurt wake up." The sound of his own name in a familiar voice seemed to bring light to the room, a setting to all the noise. His and Finn's room; he was at home. His eyes flew around the space, taking inventory and searching for anomalies to prove it might not be real, but then he recognized the hold on his arms, the form in front of his.

"D-dad." Kurt's eyes brimmed with tears; his body still sick with fright.

"You had a bad dream, Kurt. It was just a dream." He wrapped his son into his arms when he started to cry. "You're safe now, shh."

Kurt sobbed into his father's shoulder. It had been real. Too real.

Carol and Finn stood at his bedside, Finn looking bewildered and his mother anxious, a hand pressed over her mouth.

Kurt's tears subsided, but he remained slumped into his father's safe embrace, his body trembling.

"I'll go get him a glass of ice water." Carol murmured, "Finn, honey, why don't you come with me."

Kurt and his father sat in silence, one of Burt's hands smoothed Kurt's hair. "That's the fifth one in nine days, buddy. They're getting worse."

Kurt didn't try to argue otherwise, he was still trying to catch his breath.

"You gonna tell me what they're about?" Burt's hand stopped moving, but remained pressed to Kurt's head.

"They're different every time." Kurt managed to stammer.

"You were pretty upset tonight; what was that one about?" His father tried again. He needed a target to hunt down so his son could sleep at night.

Kurt shook his head against his father's chest. He wouldn't tell. He couldn't.

Burt didn't pry. He held his child close until Carol returned with the promised water glass. Kurt took it with shaky fingers, sipped from it gratefully, and quietly reassured his family he was sure he'd be fine until morning.

Burt tucked the blanket back in around Kurt's shoulders, queried over his ribs, his stitches, his ankle, and any other injury he could think of, but eventually he ran out of things to fret about, and he knew he had to leave his son's bedside. "We're right upstairs if you need anything, and Finn's down here, too. You're safe, Kurt."

Kurt's voice was quiet. "I know."

Burt remained seated on the edge of his bed, deliberating, "You sure you can't talk to me about this?"

"I'm sure." Kurt's eyes went to the glass on his nightstand.

"You're supposed to go in for a therapy appointment on Thursday, you want me to see if they can bump it up?"

"It's fine for Thursday, Dad. I'll be fine."

Burt lingered for another moment before pressing a kiss to the top of his son's head. "Try to get some rest then, kiddo. I love you."

"Love you, too, Dad." Kurt murmured.

Burt turned off the lamp on Kurt's side table and picked up the half-emptied glass. Finn was already fast asleep in his own bed, leaving Burt wondering if Kurt would be afraid. But he knew better than to insult his son's pride by offering to stay at his bedside until he slept.

He and his late wife had had one oath outside of their marriage vows: that they would always love their child and ensure that he was happy and healthy. The night terrors that had begun only two days after Kurt's return home hardly seemed healthy to Burt Hummel, and those terrified eyes when he shook him back into consciousness were a far cry from happy.

Burt went to the kitchen to return the glass to the dishwasher. He looked over the pictures and notes tacked to the refrigerator: Finn's football pictures, an old French quiz of Kurt's, a Warbler's program, Rachel's homemade calendar of her and Finn's preplanned dates, a post-it reminding him to pay the cable bill. He sat down at the kitchen table and pulled the phone from its cradle. He had assured Kurt he would let things be, but his promise to his wife came first. He would shelter his son from any monster that hurt him—real or figurative- no matter what he had to do.

* * *

"Eat your breakfast and go get ready, kiddo." Burt waved a hand over the untouched piece of toast in front of Kurt. "It's that whole grain stuff you like and everything."

Kurt pulled off a corner of the bread and chewed it slowly; he looked exhausted. "Can I be done?"

"Half of it, then, yes, you can be done." Burt eyed his son anxiously. Kurt had not bothered to dress before breakfast—he'd come upstairs still in his silk pajamas and his hair disshelved.

Kurt gave him a weary look. "I'm not hungry."

Burt let a long breath out his nose. He glanced at the clock. "All right, fine, you can try something later. Go ahead and get yourself dressed."

Kurt strapped his cane around his wrist slowly before rising to his feet and moving toward the basement door. Finn jogged up the stairs and slipped past him. "You need help?"

"I've got it; thank you, Finn." Kurt replied, beginning the careful process of working his way down the steps.

Finn watched him maneuver the first few before going to the kitchen and throwing open the cupboard doors. His mother was already gone, so he would have to fend for himself for breakfast. He briefly thanked God that Kurt didn't like Pop-Tarts when he found one pack left in the box.

He sat down across from Burt at the table, dragging the sports section out of the pile of newspaper to look over. "Morning."

"Morning." Burt watched Finn scarf down one of his purple-frosted pastries in less than a minute. He wished he could give even just a fraction of his stepson's appetite to his own flesh and blood. "You gonna be around at all today?"

Finn squinted at the calendar on the fridge; "Um, me and Rachel are supposed to be going to an impro- impri- empero-… some sort of class thing at eleven. Do you need me to stay here with Kurt instead?"

Burt shook his head, "No, Blaine's coming over today."

"I thought Blaine was coming on Wednesday when he doesn't work." Finn said around a mouthful of Pop-Tart.

"Well, now he's coming today; he said he'd be here early, and with that kid I'm a little surprised he wasn't here at six. Can you just make sure he gets into the house before you take off?" Burt drained his coffee mug in the sink.

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye out for him." Finn swallowed down the last of his Pop-Tarts and started in on the forgotten piece of toast left on the table.

"Kurt," Burt called down the stairs; "I'm headed to the shop. Call if you need anything."

"Bye." Kurt's voice came faintly up the stairwell.

"Have a nice time with Rachel, Finn." Burt nodded a quick goodbye.

Finn moved to the fridge to get out the milk. He squinted again at the calendar. Seriously, what the hell was that word? Maybe Blaine would end up having to work and Finn would have an excuse to stay home…

A little to Finn's disappointment, the doorbell rang at exactly ten o' clock. Finn pulled open the door and stepped aside so Blaine could slip in past him. "Hey, Blaine."

"Morning, Finn." Blaine's face was scruffy and his hair unkempt.

Finn studied the smaller boy for a moment; this didn't seem very dapper at all. But then again, over the past few weeks, Blaine hadn't seemed quite so… _Blaine_ to Finn. Hadn't the kid always been bubbly and smiley and chatty?

The boy in front of him now seemed serious, even when he took off his black, nondescript sunglasses so Finn could see his eyes—he looked sort of…mysterious or something. He'd have to ask Rachel about it. "Um, Kurt's getting ready downstairs. I'm going out with Rachel for- hey, actually, help me out for a second."

Blaine glanced around the room pensively before trailing after Finn toward the kitchen.

"What the hell is this?" Finn pointed to the block on the calendar.

Blaine scrutinized it for a moment, a brief shadow of a smile crossing his face. "Improvisation class."

"Great!" Finn studied the bubbly penmanship himself for a moment, "What is that?"

"Like… acting on the spot. Making it up as you go." Blaine supplied, watching Finn's face for a flicker of understanding.

"Isn't that just what life is? Making stuff up on the spot?" Finn frowned; if acting classes were anything like dancing classes this was going to be awful.

Blaine gave him a funny smile, "You're a smarter guy than people give you credit for, Finn."

Coming from a guy like Blaine that felt like a real compliment, "Thanks, man. Um, I should probably go get Rachel, but call if you need anything."

"We'll be fine; tell Rachel I say hello." Blaine turned toward the basement stairs, pausing to listen for the slam of the garage door. He didn't like not knowing who was or wasn't in the house. When he heard the faint sound of the garage door closing, he continued down the steps.

"Kurt?" He called, looking uneasily around the furniture. He hated basements. He hated things people could potentially hide behind (he was slowly discovering that was just about everything), but most of all he hated himself for suddenly being terrified of everything and everyone.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice called back from the bathroom, sounding confused.

Blaine followed the sound, wrapping his knuckles lightly on the closed door. "Yeah, it's me. Can I come in?"

"Um, give me a second." Blaine listened to Kurt shuffle around the small space on the other side of the door for a minute or two, "Okay, come in."

Blaine slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him despite the warm humidity of the little room. He preferred having doors closed- easier to keep track of everyone in an enclosed space. He shook his head a little; _God, I'm losing it._

Kurt was holding a towel wrapped around him just below his armpits, his hair still dripping. "I thought you weren't coming until Wednesday."

"Surprise." Blaine waved his hands in the air for affect, but then let them drop back down to his sides.

Kurt turned his attention back toward the mirror, trying to precariously secure the towel around him while rubbing another towel through his hair. He was failing miserably. "You didn't cut work, did you?"

Blaine shook his head, "I called in… how do you work this whole shower situation with the cast?"

Kurt nodded his head toward the shower, "A stool in the shower, a removable shower head, and my foot outside. It's an awkward endeavor."

Blaine nodded, but said nothing. They sat in compatible silence as Kurt continued to try and juggle his towel and his hair routine.

Abruptly, Kurt's eyes moved back to his lover's face worriedly, "Are you okay; I mean, is there a reason you couldn't wait until Wednesday to visit?"

Blaine shook his head slowly, "No. I'm fine.,, are you?"

Kurt's eyes left him, "Sure."

Blaine frowned, "You think I don't recognize my own act?"

Kurt quirked an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

Blaine let out a long breath, "Your dad called me last night and asked if I could come out today."

"He _what_?" Kurt's eyes fell fully on Blaine, his cheeks paling a little more than usual.

"He says you've been having nightmares." Blaine studied Kurt's face.

Kurt looked conflicted for a moment before turning his attention back to the mirror. "Yes."

"And you didn't tell me?" Blaine ventured quietly.

"Of course I didn't tell you." Kurt snapped. He looked surprised by the tone of his own voice, and when he saw the hurt register in Blaine's eyes, he regretted the biting words. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

Blaine swallowed down the hurt; he needed to stay focused today. "It's okay. You think I don't get it?"

Kurt didn't look at him; too afraid that, if he met those knowing eyes, he would start to cry. Besides, it was taking all his effort to keep his towel from falling. "Could you do me a favor?"

Blaine straightened up, waiting to serve any desire Kurt might throw his way,

"Could you grab me something to wear out of my closet?" Kurt's shoulder was starting to burn with the effort of keeping the terrycloth firmly below it.

"What do you want?"

Kurt clenched his teeth together for a moment against the pain. "Doesn't matter. You pick."

Blaine frowned. Something was definitely not right—Kurt would never, ever in his right mind send Blaine Anderson into his fashion haven of a closet and tell him to pick just whatever. Despite his misgivings about the whole thing, Blaine ventured out of the bathroom, gave the room a quick once over, and approached the closet.

He stared at the racks of clothes and was a little intimidated. He could admire the creativity, but he didn't understand the majority of what Kurt wore from day to day with the exception of a few outfits he had come to admire. He decided to go with those few things he knew he liked… if he could ever find them. He nimbly flipped through shirts- wondering over the bizarre rule system that governed this closet's organization. Blaine quickly forgot what he was looking for as he pushed through another row of hangers. No wonder it took Kurt so long to get dressed—the guy had a tendency to dress in layers, and Blaine could hardly find a single shirt for his lover, let alone two or three (not to mention accessories and pants).

Kurt must have thought better of sending Blaine into his closet without guidance, he called out to the other boy, "Top right shelf there should be a bunch of folded t-shirts; just pick one of those and the crew pants in the second pile on the left…third from the bottom."

Blaine found the chino colored pants and considered quizzing Kurt on exact locations of other items, but opted to riffle through the shirts instead. He pulled out the Alexander McQueen Kurt had worn to his house the first day of summer. He held it close to his face, inhaling the familiar scent of his boyfriend- soft, cool; soothing. Even after his worst nightmares, Blaine could find a spot on one of his pillowcases that still held the faint smell of his lover and find comfort in it. He went back to the bathroom and settled himself on the counter, the pile of clothes in his lap.

"That shirt?" Kurt eyed the material curiously. "I was sure you'd pull out the red Armani one."

"I like this shirt." Blaine shrugged, studying the pile in his hands, "Going commando?"

"Hmm?" Kurt looked confused for a moment before blushing, "Oh, no, I already had my boxers in here."

"So what's with the towel?" Blaine had not missed Kurt's sad attempts to keep the terrycloth secured around him while he primped himself.

Kurt readjusted the fabric in his hand; securing it closer. He looked back to the mirror to smooth some flyaway that Blaine couldn't see.

Blaine studied the other boy, trying to work his way into his thoughts. Kurt, though not as confident out of his designer labels as he was in them, had never had a problem stripping his shirt off in Blaine's presence before; in fact, he enjoyed it—more exposed skin meant more places for fingers to trace, lips to kiss… maybe it had just been so long that now he felt awkward, when had Blaine last seen Kurt's exposed skin? "Kurt?"

Kurt's eyed flitted back to him briefly, but ignored Blaine's probing gaze, "Pants, please."

Blaine slipped down off the counter, "Come here; I'll help."

Kurt looked conflicted, "Um, I, I can do it, I just-"

Blaine gently took hold of the edges of the towel in a fist. "I've got it; lean on me."

Kurt reluctantly let go, relieved when Blaine held tight, and did as he was told- gripping Blaine's shoulder in one hand and hopping to get his pants over the awkward cast. With a little help from Blaine's free hand, he successfully pulled them up. He tried to take hold of the towel again, "Thanks, I've got it from here."

Blaine let go when Kurt's hand was firmly in place. He offered the shirt, but Kurt looked even more hesitant.

"Could you go out to my closet and find me, um, find me…" Kurt searched his brain for some item he could send Blaine on a mission to search out while he pulled his shirt on. "The Betsey Johnson scarf with the newspaper print on it?"

"Kurt." Blaine's voice was soft. "What are you so scared of?"

Kurt was irritated with his body for betraying him when he felt tears sting his eyes, but he was too tired to will them away, so he turned his gaze away from Blaine instead. "The surgery, it… the scar's really awful."

Blaine glanced down at the t-shirt still in his hands. He remembered the first day of summer- peeling that same fabric off the beautiful boy in his arms so quickly he almost didn't realize he was doing it. "It's just me, Kurt."

When Kurt's eyes remained misty and directed away from him, Blaine took a step closer and turned Kurt's chin toward him with a gentle hand, but Kurt's eyes remained evasive, "And _you_ are exactly the person I don't want to see it."

Blaine studied Kurt's face for a moment, he moved to stand behind him, "come here."

Kurt let Blaine pull him in front of the full-length mirror on the door. Kurt stared at their reflections. Blaine's stoic face peering at him over his shoulder and his own tense, pale features stared back. Who had they become?

"Please?" Blaine brushed his fingers across Kurt's knuckles.

Kurt didn't know how to deny Blaine's sad eyes. He swallowed hard and let go of the fabric, letting it crumple in the space between their feet.

The stitches were gone, but the incision below them was still an ugly shade of purple and pink- little dots from the threads hold followed the long line down toward his hip. Blaine's fingers drifted down to trace the line from top to bottom. He loved that scar for a moment; loved what it stood for- all of Kurt's injuries were visible; messy for now, but with a little time they'd fade until they were so faint even Kurt would have to squint to see them. He pressed a kiss to Kurt's exposed shoulder. "You're perfect."

Kurt sniffled; he didn't even really know why he was crying. He was exhausted, and Blaine's sweet voice was so wonderful it almost hurt.

"Hey; no tears." Blaine smiled just a little, "The nightmares will stop after awhile, your body will fix itself; you're going to be okay, Kurt."

Kurt turned his face toward Blaine's and pressed his lips to the other boy's; wishing he could drink in all of those soothing words like an antibiotic to heal his rattled mind. The kiss seemed to be just as good as any drug; he was well aware of Blaine's hand still resting on the exposed skin above his jeans, the heaviness of Blaine's hot breath against his mouth. He hooked a hand around the back of Blaine's neck; twisting his fingers up into those dark curls to pull his face even closer.

Something in Blaine's head was screaming, and he was determined to block it out. Every time Kurt pressed against his mouth, his fingers tangling more and more in his hair, Blaine pushed back just as hard; nearly feverish with the attempt to keep that voice at bay. He savored the taste of that mouth, the softness of those lips; but still that voice just kept getting louder…

Kurt twisted around in Blaine's arms, when he broke contact just long enough to pull Blaine's shirt over his head, Blaine was back right away; his kisses hungry and desperate against Kurt's mouth. Kurt didn't mind the sudden aggressiveness; it had been too long since he felt that hot skin against his own. Oh, and Blaine's breathing was so seductively heavy, Kurt ventured a hand down his lover's chest, his abdomen, the edge of his jeans.

Too loud now. A quick flash of memory, and suddenly that scream broke past the barrier of his mind and escaped out his mouth. He was on the other side of the bathroom, his body trembling, and his stomach twisted with nausea before he could process what he was doing.

Kurt felt his hands shaking. Blaine was pressed so hard against the opposite wall that even his fingertips pressed into the drywall; desperate to be as far away as humanly possible. He tried to catch his breath; tried to understand what had just happened.

Blaine saw Kurt's bewilderment, the confused hurt he had caused. He wanted to offer comfort and apologize for his behavior, but he couldn't form words; he couldn't even steady his breathing. "I- I-"

"It's okay." Kurt whispered. This was his least favorite side of Blaine- the first three seconds after a nightmare, the momentary snap when something struck him wrong or when someone startled him. He was immediately fifteen years old again with no one to protect him. Kurt spied his shirt on the bathroom counter, he offered it slowly- afraid a sudden movement might trigger some sort of secondary reaction.

Blaine stared at the navy colored cotton, but didn't take it. He rubbed at his forehead for a moment, his mind busy trying to form some sort of resolve. He peeled himself away from the wall and took a few tentative steps back toward his boyfriend. When he felt no urge to bolt, he took another few steps closer. Kurt remained frozen in place; the shirt still clutched in his hand.

"Blaine, I'm sorry," Kurt swallowed, afraid to hold his gaze, "I didn't mean to- I wasn't thinking."

Blaine reached a tentative hand to Kurt's face, but then dropped it down before it met its mark. He flinched. "It's not you- it's me, it's all of this-"

Blaine trailed off, scrubbing at his forehead again, before wrapping his arms around his middle.

Kurt reached out a hand, carefully pressing his palm against Blaine's chest. "I wouldn't hurt you; you know that."

Blaine tensed beneath Kurt's hand, but then he was pressing his own shaky fingers over the top of it. "I know."

Kurt slowly pulled his hand away and pulled his shirt over his head, hiding the ugly scar beneath a perfect wardrobe made him feel a little more at ease. He watched Blaine carefully as he pulled his own shirt back on. "Are you going to be all right?"

Blaine wanted to cringe at the sound of that lovely voice. He was supposed to be taking care of Kurt today—not clawing his way out the basement wall. "I'm fine; it's hot in here though, come on."

Kurt thought better of using Blaine's arm as a support to make his way back into the bedroom and took a moment to strap his crutch back on before trailing after Blaine to his bed. He dropped down onto the plush mattress gratefully- he'd been on his feet far too long and his chest ached terribly.

Blaine hesitated for only a moment before settling down beside him. When Kurt didn't immediately curl into his side, a pang of anxiety and that voice whispered in his ear. _He knows, he knows how disgusting you are. He doesn't want to touch you._

But then soft fingers were touching his, "is it okay if I sit closer to you?"

Blaine almost didn't hear him, "…if you want to."

"I want you to feel comfortable." Kurt said softly.

Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself, "I'm always comfortable with you- you're the only person I _am_ comfortable with- it's just, sometimes… I don't know."

"Stuff comes back." Kurt murmured.

Blaine nodded, opening his eyes to look at the boy beside him, "Stuff comes back."

"What kind of stuff?" Kurt murmured after another moment of silence, his fingers still the only thing touching Blaine.

Blaine looked away, resting the back of his head on the headboard. "Stuff."

Kurt chewed at his lip for a moment. Blaine had never had a problem with intimacy before—not that Kurt had ever been the forcing type. Their friends had made their assumptions about what he and his boyfriend did behind closed doors- giving their fellow glee clubber raised eyebrows and knowing smiles that Kurt simply returned with his own coy smile or a shrug. They'd even fooled Santana, but the truth was, as steamy as those shower sessions had been and as kinky as some of the tricks Nadia had whispered in his ear, he and Blaine had never made love. The first time Kurt had pushed Blaine into the shower, his anxiety had been unmerited- Blaine pushed nothing- he followed Kurt's lead easily. Lips caressing the places that extracted a moan from parted lips; fingers exploring and memorizing new territory. Kurt couldn't bring himself to be brave enough to elicit that final step, and Blaine had never questioned it. But now, Kurt wondered over it all. What was real and what was Blaine's own creation? "Has it always been so… difficult for you? Us being intimate?"

Blaine looked stricken, "No! No, of course not. But it was like- that day at the hospital- saying that out loud… it's like its' happening for the first time all over again, except-"

"Except what?" Kurt rubbed his fingertips across the top of Blaine's hand.

Blaine was shaking his head. "Nothing; I came over here to help you deal with your stuff, not cry about mine."

"Blaine, if things are getting worse-"

"They won't get worse." He was moving in closer to Kurt, his fingers lacing between those of the hand beside his. "Your dad said you've been having nightmares since you got home."

Kurt considered forcing the conversation back to Blaine, but he knew better than to try and argue. "Yes."

Blaine was quiet for a moment, "Will you tell me about them?"

"No." Kurt said softly.

"Are they about that night behind the park?" Blaine pushed, lifting his arm to loop it behind Kurt's shoulders.

"Sometimes." Kurt let Blaine mold him into his side and his senses immediately soothed by the musky smell of his cologne and spearmint. "Not always."

"What about last night? Your dad said last night was the worst."

Kurt didn't want to talk about that one; thinking about it made his skin feel clammy and his throat tight. "You never tell me about _your_ nightmares."

Blaine was quiet for a long time, "They're memories more than nightmares. Stuff I'd rather forget."

"Do you? Forget?" Kurt turned his head to study Blaine's profile.

"For a little while, sometimes." Blaine sighed, "we're talking about you right now Kurt, not me."

"You're involved in this, too, I am not the only one tearing myself apart, Blaine."

"We spend plenty of time fussing over what goes on with me, and I'm sure we'll have a million more opportunities for it." Blaine tried again at getting Kurt to open up, "Did you have them in the hospital?"

Kurt let out an irritated sigh, but when it was clear Blaine was not reopening their argument for debate, he conceded. "No."

They sat in silence, Blaine out of ideas on how to make Kurt talk to him, and Kurt still fretting over Blaine's reaction to him in the bathroom. He knew what he had to do. "I'll tell you about one of mine if you tell me about one of yours."

Kurt caught the momentary panic that crossed Blaine's features before his expression tensed into some torn sense of hesitance. "I don't want you to know about those things, Kurt."

"Why not?" Kurt pulled out from under Blaine's arm to face him full on. "You said I am the one person you're comfortable with; that you feel safe with."

"Which is exactly why I don't want to tell you," Blaine ran a hand through his hair, his eyes dropping to his lap. "I'm selfish."

"In what way are you ever selfish?" Kurt touched a tentative hand to Blaine's arm.

"If you actually knew, Kurt, if you had any idea what I-" Blaine shook his head, "You wouldn't ever look at me the way you do again."

Kurt pulled both of Blaine's hands into his, "try me."

When Blaine's eyes remained evasive, Kurt swallowed hard. He would have to go first.

"We were in your bedroom." It was his turn to look away, but he felt Blaine's eyes on the top of his head. "I fell asleep, and when I woke up, the sheets were red- the whole bed was covered in blood, and it was running over onto the floor and flooding the room. I tried to scream to you we had to get out, but you weren't in the bed anymore…"

Kurt faltered until he felt Blaine's hands squeeze his, anchoring him in reality, "All of the sudden you were in the middle of the room with… with Eric, and I knew he was killing you, but I couldn't move- I tried and it was just like that night in the park- like my body couldn't remember how, like it was too much to even cover a few yards of space- he killed you and then he came for me. He pulled me out of the bed and he was drowning me in all of that blood, and I could _smell _it, Blaine, I could actually smell it."

Blaine pulled Kurt tight against him before the first sob could even break free from Kurt's mouth. He smoothed his hair, rubbed his back, and whispered, "It's only a nightmare. You're safe. I won't let him touch you again…"

Kurt cried himself into near exhaustion, letting Blaine cradle him and comfort him. When his tears had dried and Blaine's voice had fallen silent, he wanted so badly to sleep. How had Blaine done it for weeks and months at a time- lived in a constant torment between exhaustion and fear of what awaited him in the blackness of his unconscious? An act could only carry so far; the body makes its own decisions at some point when it decides enough is enough.

"You should rest." Blaine murmured, freeing one of his arms to fluff up two of the pillows beside him.

Kurt complied when Blaine shifted him until he was lying comfortably at his side, but he did not close his eyes. He stared up at Blaine. "I held up my end of the bargain."

"I never agreed to that deal." Blaine replied calmly; his eyes distant once again. He'd used up what little reserves he had for that day to comfort Kurt.

"Please, Blaine," Kurt pleaded, knowing it was a lost cause.

Blaine slid down until his head was on the pillow beside Kurt's, "Lets try to focus on something other than nightmares for awhile. I'll sing you to sleep, how about that?"

Kurt sighed but couldn't resist the offer. Blaine hadn't so much as hummed along to the radio in weeks. "I'd like that."

Blaine searched his head until the words came on their own.

_Can you lie next to her_

_And give her your heart, your heart_

_As well as your body_

_And can you lie next to her_

_And confess your love, your love_

_As well as your folly_

_And can you kneel before the king_

_And say I'm clean, I'm clean_

* * *

**A/N: I know this chapter is a bit dark, and I wish I could tell you the next one was going to be a lot fluffier, but, if things go the way i'm thinking right now, that won't be the case... the song at the end is Mumford & Sons "White Blank Page" if you were interested in checking it out. love, hugs, and kisses to the loyal readers as well as all new readers (to the new guys: im just impressed you actually sat down to read something already 21 chapters in the making, but i appreciate it immensely and hope its been worth your time :) ) **


	23. Chapter 22

**A/N: So good news and bad news to give you guys. The good: this is the longest chapter I've done so far; the bad: it's time for me to hardcore crack down on my studying so this story is going on a teensy tiny hiatus until probably the second week of May :/ but i pinkie promise that as soon as finals are over with ill be back in action with chapter 23. I know I say it every single chapter but i feel like i can never say it enough: thank you for reading, for reviewing, and just being awesome in general :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee**

* * *

**Chapter 22**

Burt had grown comfortable with the presence of Blaine Anderson in his household. Well… maybe not all together comfortable, but he was used to him all the same. Other than the isolated incident of the demanded sex talk for Kurt, Blaine was a regular little Kennedy-clone: all easy charm and manners of a boy who came from a well-to-do family. He watched his mouth and he watched his hands around his boyfriend's father, and he made Kurt endlessly happy. That was enough for Burt.

But when Burt quietly made his way down the basement stairs after his day at the shop, he was neither used to the scene nor comfortable with it. He was pleased to see his son sleeping peacefully; it was the beds other occupant that disturbed Burt Hummel. Blaine was not looking very Kennedy-like at all with his forehead on his knees and his hands pressed over his ears.

"Hey, Kid." Burt said softly.

Despite the gentleness of his tone, Blaine startled- his head snapping up and his eyes momentarily filled with fright. It reminded Burt of the first day in the hospital when Blaine had seemed to suddenly come to terms with what had happened to Kurt. But, already, Blaine was steadying himself. He checked on the boy beside him and seemed to calm at the sight of Kurt still slumbering quietly.

When Blaine met his eyes again, Burt nodded his head toward the stairs, indicating Blaine should follow him up.

Blaine nodded his comprehension, but turned his gaze back to Kurt first. He smoothed the boy's hair gently before slipping out of the bed and following Burt without a sound.

When they reached the main floor, Burt left the basement door ajar so he would better be able to hear if his son were to suddenly cry out in his sleep before sitting down on the couch, "How was he?"

Blaine remained standing; his eyes on the basement door, and Burt noted his unshaven face while he waited for a response. "He's scared. And exhausted."

"He tell you anything about them? The bad dreams?" Burt pressed, he felt a little guilty harassing the small boy; he looked as a mess as Kurt did.

Blaine nodded absently, "A little."

Burt waited for a moment, and when Blaine didn't elaborate, he was torn over whether to probe him for more details or let things be. "And?"

"He'll be all right. Just give him time; he's been through a lot." Blaine rubbed his neck with a hand, his eyes finally meeting Burt's.

Burt watched Blaine shift from foot to foot, "Why don't you have a seat, buddy."

Blaine glanced at the empty armchair before sitting down at its edge; he looked ready to stand up and bolt the second he had the chance. His eyes moved back to the basement door as though he expected Kurt to suddenly appear from behind it.

Burt kept his eyes on Blaine, "Relax, Blaine; you're making me nervous."

Blaine complied reluctantly, sitting back in the chair but kept his shoulders straight, his hands folded in his lap.

Burt waited for a moment for Blaine to relax, but when it was obvious that he was as at ease as he was ever going to be, Burt spoke, "So these guys who did this to Kurt; you knew them."

Blaine's eyes shifted back to Burt, "Yeah, I knew them."

"Kurt says they're who came after you at your old school."

Blaine didn't know where Burt was going with all of this, "Yes, sir."

"Were they this aggressive with you?" Burt nodded toward the basement door where his son was still quietly sleeping.

Blaine hesitated, "I never had any hospital stays."

"They hit you though?" Burt pressed.

"Yes, sir." Blaine's eyes went down to his hands in his lap.

"And your old man never got anywhere with the police either I take it if these guys are still wandering around." Burt rested his elbows on his knees, looking discouraged.

"He never tried." Blaine studied the rough edge of a fingernail. He'd taken to biting them when he was stressed out and the majority of them were nearly to the quick…he really should stop doing that. Nail biters look anxious. He tore himself from his nail biting reverie and realized Burt was silent. He looked up to find the man's eyes fixated on him.

"These guys beat the crap out of you, and your father didn't do anything about it?" Burt's voice was quiet with disbelief. "What about your mother, is she around?"

"Yeah, she's around." Blaine didn't like this conversation. He may have resented a little bit of his upbringing, but the almost paranoid need for privacy regarding the Anderson Personal Life was engraved in his system.

"What about the school; did your parents get them involved?"

Blaine sighed, "My parents didn't get others involved because I didn't involve _them_."

Now Burt was completely confounded, "What?"

Blaine shrugged, his eyes falling back to his lap.

"Why didn't you tell them?" Burt felt a hurt in his chest. It had nearly broken his heart to find out Kurt had blown the note in his Glee club solo audition the previous year to save Burt the trouble of dealing with harassers, how could any parent stand to find out someone had been hurting their child while they remained oblivious?

Blaine shifted in the chair; almost wishing Kurt would start screaming from a nightmare just so he could weasel his way out of the conversation.

Burt tried again, "You've been straight with me in the past, kid, even if I didn't like it. I need you to be straight with me now."

"I didn't stand up for myself; I let them do what they did," Blaine finally spoke, "My father… my father doesn't believe in victims. I am the master of my own fate and all that."

"I'm not sure that rule applies to this situation, Blaine." Burt felt a paternal hurt for the boy in front of him. He may be the wiseass kid who had had the nerve to tell Burt to give his son the sex talk (the very same boy who, a few weeks later, was suddenly dating Kurt), but he was still just a kid, and kids needed to be protected.

"With all due respect sir, it pertained more to the trouble I got myself into than anything else." Blaine eyed Burt for a moment, "when you were a kid, would you have gone to your father and told him a bunch of guys were beating on you?"

Burt sighed, "No, but the reasons for them doing what they did to you-"

Despite an upbringing that taught him interrupting adults was as mortal of a sin as murder, Blaine smoothly cut Burt off, "—are the last thing my father would ever want to have to deal with and the precise reason I tried not to tell him. I'm thankful and in awe of how accepting you are of Kurt and how close you two are, but we can't all be so fortunate or so understanding."

When Burt stared at him mutely, his eyes conflicted, Blaine decided it was time to smooth things over and shut this conversation down before it advanced any further.

"Eventually they figured out something was wrong. They sent me to Dalton and that was the end of it." Blaine ran the pad of his index finger over the jagged edge of his thumbnail. "I haven't had a problem with them since."

Burt opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of Blaine's phone ringing.

Blaine fished it from his pocket and felt a sinking sensation in his chest. His father. How convenient. "Hey, Dad."

"Where the hell are you?"

"I went to Kurt's today. I told mom and I called in to work to switch my day off from Wednesday to today." He searched his brain for which bases he was forgetting to cover. "I mowed the lawn last night."

"I'm not calling to ask you to cut grass, Blaine. Do you remember what tonight is?"

Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, flipping through his mental calendar. Shit. He glanced at the clock on the mantle, "The Windsor Benefit; it's not until eight, though. It's only four."

"Blaine," His father sounded exasperated, "You're supposed to be escorting Madeline Bennett which means you need to pick her up."

"So I have to be out the door by seven-thirty. I've still got time." Blaine said coolly.

"And you need time to pick up the corsage." His father insisted.

"Mom already got it." Blaine glanced at Burt Hummel who was reclined against the back of the couch, acting like he wasn't listening. "I'll leave now if that's any reassurance to you, but I promise I have it under control."

His father let out a short snort, "You'd better."

Blaine hung up without saying goodbye and got to his feet. "Looks like I'd better head out."

"Thanks for coming out today, Blaine. If it's causing you trouble with your old man, I'd be happy to talk to him and let him know I asked you to come out here." Burt got to his feet too, following after Blaine toward the front door.

"No, no; it's fine. I'm glad you called." Blaine slipped his shoes on, "Don't hesitate to call again."

Burt reached out and squeezed Blaine's shoulder, he didn't miss the way Blaine tensed under his touch, "Let me know if you ever need anything, kid."

"Thank you, sir." Blaine mumbled, making a quick exit to avoid any last second questions.

* * *

Despite his reassurances to his father, Blaine was rushed. He hit traffic on the way back to New Albany, ended up having to go back with the corsage due to some sort of mix up with the flowers (he thought they looked fine, but his mother insisted they were all wrong), and still had to shave, shower, and dress. His father glared at him as he sprinted down the stairs still buttoning the cuff of one of his sleeves.

"What time did you tell Madeline you were picking her up at?" His father asked pointedly, watching his son snatch the corsage from the refrigerator.

"7:35." Blaine said flatly, snatching his keys from the counter.

"It's 7:31, Blaine." His father called after him as he hurried toward the front door.

Blaine didn't respond; he was already out the door. When he got in his car he took a breath and tried to pull himself together. With Kurt he may have given up his act, but he still had other people to hold things together for. He pulled into Madeline's driveway at 7:39. Oops. He hurried up the front path and rang the bell, studying the little cluster of white roses in the plastic container he held in his hand. He hadn't really meant to get himself suckered into the benefit, but apparently his father had taken his pleas earlier that summer to heart- he'd been informed of his role as escort only three days after his first meeting with Madeline. Her phone number was still crumpled somewhere in his sock drawer and it made him uncomfortable.

"Oh, Blaine, you're here!"

Blaine flashed his best smile, "Hi, Mrs. Bennett, sorry I'm a bit late."

"Oh, don't be silly, dear. Come in!" The little blonde woman was practically pulling him by the elbow through the front door.

Blaine shook his uneasiness and smiled politely.

"Madeline just ran back upstairs, but she should be—oh, there you are; look who's here!" Sheri Bennett clapped her hands together when her daughter appeared at the top of the stairs.

Madeline blushed as she made her way down to them. If Blaine were attracted to women he decided he would have found Madeline quite pretty—she had pretty grey eyes, Quinn Febrey's little nose, and long strawberry blonde colored hair. This is what his parents had dreamed Blaine would end up with. He smiled for her, "You look beautiful."

Madeline's cheeks turned even more pink, "Thank you, Blaine; you look nice, too… are those for me?"

Blaine followed her gaze to the corsage, he pulled at the plastic edges to get the case open, "Oh, yeah."

She giggled as he fumbled with the stupid box for a moment, and held out her hand for him to slip the flowers over her wrist once he'd conquered the box.

Her mother had rushed back in with a similar box that she handed off to Madeline before backing away to blind them with her camera.

Madeline had no trouble with her box; she pinned the rose to Blaine's lapel, letting her hand rest on his shoulder as she studied it, "perfect."

They stood together and smiled for pictures, Sheri cooing over what a lovely pair they made the whole time until she was suddenly shooing them out the door.

"We'll meet you there; you have everything, don't you dear?" Sheri smoothed some invisible wrinkle in her daughter's white dress.

"I told you, Claire has it all. We have to go or we'll be late." Madeline tugged at Blaine's elbow, trying to get them out the door.

"No funny business, Anderson." Ryan Bennett chuckled as he gave Blaine a scolding look.

"Daddy!" Madeline flushed red and glowered at her father.

"Trust me, sir, you have nothing to worry about." Blaine smiled quickly before leading Madeline out to the car.

"I love this song!" She chirped as soon as Blaine was pulling out of the driveway, his stereo still on from when he'd made his hasty exit.

Blaine glanced at her and smiled, "Me too."

She hummed along for a few moments before turning her attention back to him, "Have you gone to Windsor before?"

"It's been a couple years. Have you?"

She bobbed her head up and down, "this is the first year I'm old enough for an escort though. And I'm chair for the raffle prizes, so you'd better bid on something."

"Cross my heart." Blaine mimed the movement with one hand.

She giggled and chattered on all the way up until he was jogging around the car to pull her door open for her. She rested her hand at his elbow and was finally quiet as they entered the country club. She led him to the registry table where a tall blonde was sitting; the girl squealed at the sight of Madeline and the two ooh'd and ahh'd over how lovely the other looked while Blaine stood idly a few paces back. The blonde looked his way and whispered something in Madeline's ear that sent them both into a fit of giggles before they were finally recorded as present. Madeline slipped her hand back around Blaine's arm, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Jamie is insanely jealous."

Blaine decided to assume the girl at registration was Jamie; he smiled politely, scanning the room. It was such a big space and there were so many people… "Why's that?"

Madeline's fingers traced his forearm briefly, "Because my date is so much cuter than hers."

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Well look who's finally awake." Carol smiled affectionately when Kurt appeared in the kitchen, squinting against the light.

"How'd you sleep, bud?" His father scrutinized his face.

"Great, but you should have woken me up; I'm going to be as nocturnal as a bat now." Kurt yawned.

"You needed your rest, honey, and your timing is perfect- dinner will be ready in just a minute. Are you hungry?" Carol checked a pot on the stove.

"Starving." Kurt replied honestly.

Burt felt the tension ease between his shoulder blades. "Glad to hear it; come sit down."

Kurt sat down across from him, glancing to Finn who looked disgruntled, "Who puked on your Jimmy Choos?"

"Huh?" Finn looked confused.

"You look pissed." Kurt revised. He took the plate of spaghetti Carol offered him gratefully.

"Blaine made improvisation class sound like it was gonna be easy. It was _not_ easy. It was choreography days bad." Finn grumbled, but his face brightened when he was served his own plate piled high with food.

Blaine had been over; Kurt had almost forgotten, "Did he go home?"

Burt nodded, "Around four this afternoon."

Kurt felt a little disappointed; he twirled pasta around his fork half-heartedly, "You should have woken me up so I could say goodbye at least."

"You needed your rest, and I'm sure he would have waited if he could, but he was in a rush to get somewhere." Burt soothed. "Eat your dinner."

Kurt stuck the fork in his mouth and raised his eyebrows at his father.

"Thank you." Burt smiled briefly.

"I hope it wasn't some fancy Dalton thing he had to be at." Finn said, burying a piece of garlic bread under a heap of pasta before shoving it in his mouth.

"Why do you say that?" Kurt frowned.

"He looked like a straight dude today- no offense or anything- I just mean he like hadn't shaved or done that thing he usually does to his hair." Finn motioned a hand to his own head.

"It's summer; he doesn't always dress like he's going to school." Kurt defended lamely, he had been aware of Blaine's unusual disorderliness as well. His mouth was a little chapped from his lover's neck, but he didn't feel like that was exactly the sort of observation to share at the dinner table.

"You ever meet his dad, Kurt?" Burt looked up from his plate.

Kurt shrugged, "Once or twice… not since we've been dating though."

"Blaine ever talk about him?" Burt tried to keep his tone light.

Kurt took a drink from his water glass to buy himself a minute while he contemplated how to answer, "Not often; they're not very close. His dad works a lot… why do you ask?"

"No reason; I was just chatting with him today and I got the feeling they didn't get along very well."

"Oh God, Dad; what did you say to him?" Kurt flushed; his father had never been easy on Blaine, and the idea of him interrogating him mortified Kurt to no end, especially with Blaine as on edge as he had been the past few weeks.

Burt held up both hands, "Jeez, relax. We just talked; I didn't threaten his life or anything like that for dating you. I called him to come out here today, remember?"

Kurt nodded slowly, "… thank you, by the way. It was nice seeing him."

Burt nodded, "He's welcome any time."

Finn entertained them by telling them about all the bewildering incidences of his improv class until Carol was clearing the table. When things were put back in order, she announced she was going to watch HGTV and promptly disappeared. Finn moved toward the basement to play with his X-Box (though he planned on steering clear of Call of Duty; he'd had enough role play for one day).

Kurt remembered the book still on his nightstand. Blaine's reading sessions had staggered out, but Kurt had continued on with the novel on his own. "I think I might go read for awhile."

"Wait up just a minute, Kurt; I wanted to talk to you about a few things." Burt pursed his lips, his eyes on the tabletop.

Uh-oh; that look was never a good thing. Kurt settled back into his chair, "What sort of things?"

"About Blaine."

This was definitely not good.

* * *

"I had asked for something more _youthful_ for tonight, but this is all they could send me until nine-thirty; can you believe it?" Suzan Oakes touched a hand to her bun as though the debacle with the musical performance were actually physically ruffling her hair.

Shannon Anderson smiled politely, "It's not terrible by any means, but it is a bit old fashioned. I'm sure when they send in the replacement everything will be fine."

Blaine remained mute, watching the throngs of suits and dresses shift around him. Madeline was still attached to his arm, but she was conversing with a group of younger girls animatedly.

"—Could you Blaine, just one song?"

Blaine shook himself from his thoughts, "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Suzan was hoping you'd sing; could you, dear?" His mother smiled hopefully at him.

"Blaine, you can sing?" Madeline's attention was back on him.

Blaine smiled nervously; "I, um…"

"He has a beautiful voice; I heard him myself at a show choir performance." Suzan boasted, her eyes still glued to Blaine.

"Oh, Blaine, you have to then! Kara's date plays guitar- he can go up there with you!" Madeline squeezed his free hand in hers, "Please, Blaine; for me?"

Blaine gazed around at the group of ladies staring back at him. He never could stand the face of a disappointed woman, let alone an entire pack, "…One song."

Madeline clapped her hands together, "I'll go find Kara; go on and get up there!"

Blaine smiled lamely for the females left with him that were still praising his willingness to perform until Suzan was dragging him toward the stage. When the jazz band that had been hired finished their number, she shooed the lead away from the microphone to give a long-winded introduction (and to remind everyone to make bids for the raffle).

A hand gave him a hearty clap on the back; he jumped.

"Sorry, man, didn't mean to sneak up on you." A red headed kid about a foot taller than him smiled ruefully when Blaine spun around to stare at him, "I'm Adam. Kara's date."

"Oh, right." Blaine shook his hand, he nodded toward the instrument in the other boy's hand, "You just happened to bring that along?"

Adam looked begrudgingly at the guitar, "Nah, it belongs to the Club. Man, I hate these things, you get suckered into taking your dad's work buddy's girl out to gossip with a bunch of other chicks and then they throw this shit at us."

Blaine smiled genuinely for the first time all night, "I know what you mean."

"Hey, so what song are we doing?"

_Shit_. "No idea."

"You wanna change that in the next thirty seconds or so?" Adam watched the jazz band filtering off the side of the stage.

Blaine tried to think quickly. What would the old Blaine Anderson have done? His eyes followed the procession off the stage. He grabbed the trumpet player at the front of the line by the arm, effectively stopping them all. "Can you guys do Michael Buble?"

The man looked to the others behind him for consensus. They nodded.

"Perfect. Get back up there." Blaine followed after them onto the stage, blushing at the applause and praying to God he wouldn't freeze up.

He remembered Kurt's fears at Regionals- opening his mouth to sing and nothing coming out; dying on stage… Blaine smiled to himself as he pulled the microphone from the stand.

"Let me know the song sometime tonight, please." Adam muttered in his ear.

"Feeling Good." Blaine gave him a wink. He took a breath and began, feeling the familiar rush from the sound of his own voice echoing out over a room. Despite everything the last month had brought out, he couldn't lie to himself: performing felt just as good as it ever did; a comfortable second skin. When he finished, the crowd roared (well, businessmen and trophy wives didn't really roar, but they did their best).

Madeline flung her arms around his neck as soon as he was off the stage, "Oh, Blaine, you were perfect!"

Blaine peeled her off as best he could, accepting the crowd's praise and admiration as he made his way back toward their table. He didn't even mind when total strangers squeezed his arm or patted him on the back. He wished he could rush to Lima and tell Kurt that, yes, as always, he had been right, things were going to get—

"Blaine." His father intercepted him. He was standing with someone Blaine didn't recognize. "There you are."

"Hi, Dad." Blaine smiled politely.

"That was some singing, Mr. Anderson." The mystery gentleman with his father clapped a hand down on Blaine's shoulder.

"Thank you, sir." Blaine couldn't help but feel the man's eyes were familiar… or the shape of his jaw line…something…

"Blaine's in his show choir at Dalton." His father smiled between his son and his colleague. "He's quite talented in the arts."

Blaine flushed beneath his father's praise; he didn't mention that his father hadn't been to one of his performances since he was in the church Christmas pageant when he was seven.

"Blaine, I don't think you've met many people from our law department; this is Oliver Marlow."

Marlow. That was it. Blaine shook his hand numbly.

"You know my son, Blaine; you two used to go to school together." Oliver smiled pleasantly at him. "He's actually here tonight, he escorted- oh, there he is—Eric!"

* * *

"We already talked about Blaine." Kurt said tersely.

"I know we did, but I wanted to talk one-on-one with you about some stuff." Burt studied Kurt's face.

"Like what?" Kurt studied his neatly manicured nails to avoid his father's gaze.

"Does his dad knock him around at all?"

"Of course not," Kurt snapped, but then hesitated, remembering the conversations between Blaine and Nadia. "… They clash, but his dad doesn't hit him."

Burt nodded, a little more at ease, but he wasn't done, "You know he never told them about those guys bullying him?"

"…Yes." Kurt glanced hesitantly at his father.

"And that didn't worry you at all?" Burt raised an eyebrow.

"Of course it did, but getting Blaine to talk about anything is almost impossible; I barely got him to talk to me—can you imagine trying to make him tell someone else?" Kurt clamped his mouth shut. Too much information.

"So he still has problems with it?" Burt pressed.

"No, he's at Dalton now."

"You know that's not what I meant, Kurt."

"Why does it matter to you, anyway?" Kurt snapped. These were not his secrets to spill. He reminded himself to apologize to Nadia for criticizing her muteness on Blaine's issues.

"Those boys almost killed you, Kurt." His father's voice was low; tense, "and you're telling me these guys beat on your boyfriend for years without anyone knowing. If his own father won't protect him, someone has to."

"I can protect him." Kurt snapped.

"Is that why this all happened?" Burt's voice got louder, he motioned a hand to Kurt's crutch leaned against the wall. "You are a child, Kurt, whether you like it or not, and this… this is not something children can deal with alone."

"We're fine!" Kurt felt angry tears sting his eyes.

"You are waking up screaming in the middle of the night-"

"—I had nightmares over David Karofsky and all he did was shove me around; I'm overly sensitive, you know that—this will go away. It's fine." Kurt wondered momentarily if this was how Blaine felt backing himself into corners.

"I can't make you tell me any different about how you're feeling, Kurt, but you know you have the right to be very, very upset over what happened to you and that I accept that and would do anything to help you, right?" Burt reached across the table to squeeze his son's hand.

"Yes," Kurt whispered.

Burt was silent for a moment before choosing his words carefully, "There is something going on here you're not telling me."

"I told you the nightmares will—"

"What about Blaine?" Burt held tight to Kurt's hand when he tried to pull it away.

"He's fine; all of this stresses him out; we're going to be fine." Kurt gritted his teeth to keep from shouting; how many times could he repeat himself?

"You are _not_ fine. He is _not_ fine." Burt pushed past the last barrier of awkwardness that held him back. "Do you love him, Kurt?"

Kurt looked up at his father in surprise. He nodded mutely.

"If Blaine won't go looking for help himself, then you need to do it for him. If you want to protect him, if you love him- you'll tell someone. It doesn't have to be me— tell the police, tell his mother, tell your psychiatrist, just don't convince yourself you're doing him any favors by helping him keep secrets." Burt slowly stood up from the table. "Just think about it for awhile, Kurt."

Kurt thought of Blaine. Sweet Blaine once so adorably spontaneous and yet as predictable as clockwork. Blaine screaming, Blaine crying; Blaine looking more and more lost every time some monster clawed at the confines of his head. "Dad."

Burt turned back to look at his son.

Kurt already felt familiar, hot tears rolling down his face; he had to force his voice out even just as a whisper, "There's something I have to tell you."

* * *

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening.

"Blaine." His father muttered his name, giving him a jab with his shoe.

Eric's hand was extended toward him, a grin on his face.

Blaine prayed no one else saw the way his hand trembled when he raised it to shake Eric's.

"Nice to see you again, Blaine. Nice song, too, by the way. I thought you were just into acting—jack of all trades, I guess." Eric smiled brightly.

"Guess so." Blaine cleared his throat. His tie was strangling him.

"We'll let you two catch up." His father and Oliver moved toward another pack of men in suits.

"Who's your friend, Blaine?" Madeline was back at his side, both arms hugged lightly around his arm.

Eric smiled for her and offered a hand. "Eric Marlow. Blaine and I were buddies back at New Albany."

"Oh, how exciting to get to run into each other again!" Madeline smiled brightly at Blaine then at Eric, "I'm Madeline Bennett."

"Charmed." Eric glanced over his shoulder, "I'm here with Keira Portman- she's friends with Nadia Fisher, Blaine."

Blaine nodded mutely. Madeline's grip on him was making him claustrophobic.

"Keira's doing raffle chairing with me tonight!" Madeline turned to study Blaine's face, "who's Nadia?"

"Old friend." Blaine muttered, he noted people shifting toward the tables. "I think they're starting dinner; do you want to sit down, Madeline?"

"Kara's got the place cards; I'll go get ours," Madeline started to move away from Blaine, but then turned back to squeeze his arm, "Call me Maddie, Blaine."

Blaine nodded and watched her go.

"Oh, she's pretty, Blaine." Eric's shoulder was touching his, his eyes also following the flouncing back of Madeline's white dress, "Not as pretty as Kurt though, is she?"

"I should fucking kill you right here." Blaine snarled. The fury he felt terrified him, but he couldn't suppress it.

"Our fathers wouldn't like that one bit—bad for business, you know. And you might get blood on Maddie's pretty dress." Eric turned his head to smile at Blaine, "Besides, that would leave you in a very confounding position."

Blaine fell mute and tried to gather his wits. He glanced around at the crowds of people, taking comfort in the numbers of them.

Eric was watching him, he chuckled, "a public place has never saved you before, Blaine."

Blaine glanced at Eric, "The boys aren't here."

"That wasn't a problem either, was it?" Eric's eyes scanned Blaine once.

He involuntarily took a step away. He scanned the throngs for a familiar face.

Eric caught hold of his forearm, "Don't go running off, Blaine. Maddie will never be able to find you."

Blaine recoiled from Eric's hold, "Don't touch me."

"You're going to cause a scene, Blaine." Eric made eye contact with another one of the junior league members and smiled.

"I got them!" Madeline was back; waving two little folded place cards in one hand and pulling another girl behind her with the other.

"Blaine, you look so different!" It was Keira, she beamed at Blaine, "Nadia said she's been seeing more of you these days, but she didn't tell me you got gorgeous!"

Normally Blaine would have laughed and teased her that she looked as pretty as ever, but with Eric's eyes on him all he could do was offer a feeble smile, "Nice to see you again, Keira."

"We did some swapping around and now the four of us are sitting together; isn't it wonderful?" Madeline handed Blaine his card.

"Absolutely perfect." Eric agreed; he offered his arm to his date.

Blaine wondered briefly if he could fake that he was sick and leave, but then Madeline was pulling him along beside her. He pulled her chair out for her numbly. He took the seat across from her, dropping his name card on top of the white tablecloth. Eric sat down beside him.

Eric immediately leaned in, his breath hot on Blaine's ear. "You never called me, darling."

Blaine looked over at Madeline; she was prattling away to his mother beside her. Shannon Anderson smiled at her son when their eyes met.

Servers were putting plates down in front of guests. Eric took a long drink from his water glass. "Anything to say for yourself?"

"Nothing comes to mind." Blaine struggled to force each syllable out.

Eric's eyes moved over to Madeline. "Miss Bennett seems to be quite taken by you, Blaine."

Blaine stared at the plate that had been placed in front of him.

"I wonder if _she_'d fight off your big bad bullies for you," Eric picked up his fork and knife, cutting into the steak on his plate.

"I told you to leave him out of this." Blaine kept his voice low.

"Hey, I'm sure you've heard the police report by now- _he_ came after me. I'm still a little upset about that, by the way; he broke my nose." Eric stuck his fork in his mouth, looking a little put off

Blaine couldn't help himself. He turned his gaze to analyze Eric's profile, and, sure enough, a small bump stood out just slightly from his otherwise perfect nose.

Eric caught his eye and Blaine had no choice but to hold his gaze, "He's lucky I told the boys to go easy."

"You almost killed him." Blaine snapped. He ignored the few glances his tone elicited.

"Hush," Eric looked calmly around the people around them, "Almost and did are two very different things, Blaine. I made the decision between those two. Keep your bitch on a leash or I won't be so kind next time."

"Watch it." Blaine started to get to his feet, ready to attack Eric right there.

Eric caught a hold of his arm when he was only a few inches off his seat. "Sit. Down. Now."

Blaine felt an old familiar numbness force him back down.

Eric checked on their tablemates again before speaking in his same purring tone, "Don't get jealous, Blaine; he and I didn't share what we have together."

Blaine turned his eyes toward the stage when he saw a woman approaching the microphone. A speech would mean an end to chatter- he willed her forward faster.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen-"

Blaine tried to focus on her words; steady his head. He felt a slender ankle rubbing against his leg. Madeline. Great. He ignored her advances, and wondered idly if he should go ahead and tell her it wasn't Nadia she should be jealous of…

A hand on his knee beneath the tablecloth. Eric's hand. Blaine felt his stomach twist, his throat constrict. He glanced at his parents. His father met his gaze and nodded toward the stage, indicating he should be paying attention.

Blaine turned his eyes forward again, trying to shift away from Eric meant moving into Madeline's advances, but Blaine was content to deal with that dilemma later.

Madeline's eyes met his. She smiled coyly.

Eric's hand moved up his leg. This wasn't happening. Not here. Not now.

People were applauding; the speech was over, and people shifted their attention back to their conversations and their meals. Madeline's foot at his knee, Eric's hand all the way up his leg. Blaine shot to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. All eyes moved to him.

"Blaine." His mother scolded with a frown.

"Blaine, are you all right?" Madeline's cheeks were flushed.

"Yes, Blaine, what seems to be the problem?" Eric peered up at him with concern.

Blaine fought every urge to clamp his hands down over his ears. "I- I'm fine. I just need some air. I'll be right back."

He stumbled between chairs and ignored the few pleasant voices that called out to commend his earlier performance until he was surrounded by cool night air and twilight. He weaved between cars in the lot, gulping in the humid oxygen around him to steady his pounding heart, but it was no use. He ended up vomiting between a Cadillac and a BMW. He leaned against the little black 3-series. The sky was littered with cold white lights. Blaine counted.

"Goodness, you always have been such a sensitive soul, Blaine-y."

The voice, suddenly so close, made Blaine jump; he almost tripped over his own feet.

Eric was leaned against the hood of the Cadillac. He smiled. "Isn't life funny? How it just keeps bringing us back together?"

"Hilarious." Blaine muttered, he glanced back toward the Country Club. They were far enough away that the sound was muted to a soft single note.

"Really though, B, fate is such a lovely tangle of a web, isn't it?" Eric straightened up and moved toward Blaine. He stepped over where Blaine had been sick, rolling his eyes.

Blaine backed away until his back bumped the grill of an SUV.

"First there was you and me and the boys at New Albany," Eric didn't seem to mind Blaine's retreat; he followed after him in a leisurely pace. "Then that day in the park, and then Kurt's little rendezvous with us, and now here we are again. You and me."

Blaine decided it was high time he made a break for it—at least get back inside.

Eric was one step ahead of him as always, "I've wanted to get some alone time with you all night, Blaine-y, and I know that look on your face- you want to run away from me."

Blaine tried to devise a mental path for which cars would be quickest to cut between.

"Don't even fucking think about it." Eric's voice went flat. "I will make sure you think twice in the future if you take one fucking step right now."

"What could you possibly do to me?" Blaine turned his full gaze on Eric. "What the fuck could you possibly have left to take from me?"

Eric smiled like he'd been hoping for that question all night. "Kurt."

Blaine felt his fingers clench into his palms.

"And don't tell me I couldn't get away with it." Eric chuckled and nodded his head toward the Club, "in case you hadn't noticed, I have an excellent lawyer."

"You can't get away with murder." Blaine felt dizzy, his fingers reached out to steady himself on the nearest vehicle.

Eric looked genuinely surprised for a moment before smiling again, moving forward until he was only inches from him, "Oh, Blaine, silly boy."

Blaine could smell cinnamon gum on his breath he was so close; he tried to keep his voice level, "You couldn't."

Eric gazed steadily into his eyes, reached up, and brushed his thumb over Blaine's forehead, "I wouldn't kill him."

"Do not even fucking think about touching him. I swear to God, I'll fucking kill you." Blaine slammed Eric's back into the hood of the car parallel to them.

Eric didn't look upset; he laughed, "Aw, Jesus, Blaine. You are too cute when you get all hot and bothered over that kid. Now, be a good boy and let go of me."

Blaine held tight to Eric's jacket, glowering.

"What are you gonna do, Blaine, huh?" Eric looked irritated. "Your fucking parents are right there."

Blaine released his hold and backed away a few paces.

"Now listen and listen good;" Eric smoothed his jacket; straightened his tie. "I know where he lives, and I have no problem taking a little stroll on down to Lima to visit; he just got out of the hospital, didn't he? I'd love to drop by and check on his recovery."

"What do you want from me, Eric?" Blaine sagged against the car.

Eric smiled, "I just want you back in my life, Blaine. Starting tonight. Just like old times."

Blaine closed his eyes for a moment; half hoping he could wake up screaming in his own bed. Anything else. Anywhere else. He opened his eyes; Eric was watching him expectantly.

"Your choice, Blaine." Eric shrugged.

Speech production's a funny thing. Auditory neurons firing, upper level synapses turning intentions into phonatory cues, phonatory cues into muscle plans, muscle plans into movements. All that work for a simple combination of sounds. Sounds that could seal fate. "Okay."

"Okay what?" Eric queried innocently.

Blaine swallowed, "You. Me."

"I'm so glad you feel that way," Eric straightened his tie. "Two AM. Cops will be patrolling the streets for drunks. We'll have plenty of time to ourselves."

"Where?" Blaine mumbled.

"Back lot of the park; I know how special that place has become to you."

Blaine nodded mutely.

Eric clapped a hand down on his shoulder. "Lets get back inside before we cause a scandal. Little Maddie's waiting for you, you know."

Blaine let Eric push him back toward the party, chattering away about how much he had loved being in English class with Blaine when they attended school together. "Remember T.S. Eliot, Blaine, you loved that shit!"

Blaine didn't respond, all of his will power was going toward the movement of his feet and suppressing the bile in his throat.

Eric didn't mind his silence; instead, as they re-entered the party, he whispered in his ear.

_"This is the way the world ends,_

_ This is the way the world ends,_

_ This is the way the world ends._

_ Not with a bang but a whimper"_


	24. Chapter 23

**A/N: Eeeeeep! 5 finals, two 10-page papers, and a portfolio later I am back in action! Thank you all for your patience while I waded through finals, but I wrote bits and pieces where and when I could and got 23 put together real quick for you; possible bad news (but hopefully not): I leave for Europe in a few days so I may or may not get 24 up before then depending on how crazy busy I get trying to get everything thrown together for the trip, in which case I won't be updating until June, but I'll do my best to at least get 24 to you before then! ummm...couple of side notes about the chapter: 1) it's dark; sorry if that depresses you at all :/ 2) the lyrics: three different songs themed to their respective days they're tied to; lets play a game: name that song if you know 'em, if not go look them up and give them a listen :) and 3) just to avoid any confusion: this chapter progresses backwards (as in the night of the Windsor Benefit is last and we're kicking it off with three days after that)for anyone out there who might want to be forewarned: small trigger warning for self-harm (thank you to the reviewer who suggested i put this in here; i hadn't even thought about it)**

** Without further ado, here's chapter 23!**

* * *

**Chapter 23**

_I tell my love to wreck it all_

_Cut out all the ropes and let me fall_

_Day 3_

"Please eat cake." Kurt twisted his head to look over the back of the couch. "I never want to have another piece forced down my throat again. It needs to disappear."

Blaine raised an eyebrow; he had just walked through the Hummel's front door. The two week-old 'Welcome Home' banner still clung to the family room wall, but the fat, latex balloons purchased by Rachel for Kurt's homecoming from the hospital lay wilted on the ground. He ignored Kurt's plea and sat down in the vacant armchair. He studied one of the sad, shriveled balloons when it drifted toward his feet.

Kurt chewed at his lower lip. Apparently it was one of Blaine's bad days. It was also supposed to be the day Kurt pressed him to tell the truth to his parents. Now what? When Blaine's only action was to touch a shoe to a balloon nearby, Kurt finally spoke up, but kept his tone soft. "Anything in particular bothering you today or is this just a generalized thing?"

Blaine leaned his elbows on his knees, his eyes drifted to Kurt's cast. "Both."

When he offered no further explanation, Kurt had to bite back a sigh. Apparently this was going to be a guessing game. "Is it work?"

"No; work's fine." Blaine mumbled.

"Your parents?" Kurt tried again. Praying to God he wouldn't get the affirmative.

Blaine shook his head.

"Warblers? College? Bad dreams? Me?" Kurt listed off whatever he could think of, watching for any signs of a trigger.

Blaine's eyes settled on his face for a brief moment before moving toward the window overlooking the front lawn. "Where's your family?"

Apparently he wasn't in the mood to talk about feelings. Kurt played along, "Dad's at work, Finn's out with Puck, and Carol's probably buying more flour to whip up culinary creations to force feed me. I think she truly believes sweets are the body's best healer."

Blaine didn't smile at the joke. His eyes were on Kurt's face again, but he looked closer to tears than laughter.

"Hey," Kurt held out an arm toward the other boy, "come over here and talk to me."

Blaine hesitated for a moment before moving to the open space on the couch beside Kurt. He left a small space between them and remained mute.

Kurt pulled the pillow out from beside him and dropped it down into his lap. He pulled gently at Blaine's elbow. "Don't be like that. Come here."

Blaine reluctantly rested his head in Kurt's lap; he didn't like being splayed out like that though; it made him nervous.

"Relax, you're okay." Kurt rested one arm on Blaine's chest and ran his other hand through his hair. "Tell me something."

Blaine flinched, "Not today, Kurt."

Kurt fell silent for a moment, before offering a different topic up, "They're switching my cast to a boot tomorrow."

"That's good." Blaine murmured, his eyes drifting toward the television. He hated Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

Kurt followed his gaze, "You know if they can get famous enough to have multiple reality shows without having one iota of talent or intelligence, I feel like it shouldn't be too hard for us to gain some sort of stardom."

"You're probably right." Blaine replied.

When a commercial started, Kurt tried to provoke some sort of conversation again. "How was the benefit dinner thing a few nights ago? Suave and stuffy?"

"It was fine." Blaine shrugged one shoulder, his eyes still on the screen.

Kurt glanced back toward the TV; unless Blaine was actually considering hiring someone to clean his windows, he assumed the ad wasn't actually as engrossing as Blaine made it seem. "How was your date?"

"Maddie's a nice girl. We talked about this on the phone yesterday, remember?" Blaine's eyes moved down to follow one of the balloons that was being dragged across the carpet by some invisible draft or static force.

"Yes, I remember." Kurt studied Blaine; wishing there were some sort of clue to tip him off as to what he was supposed to do in this situation. He spotted the bandage when Blaine folded his arm across his middle, "What happened?"

Blaine's eyes moved up to his, blank. "What are you talking about?"

"Your hand." Kurt made to reach for the wounded appendage, but Blaine tucked it safely beneath his other arm.

"Kitchen accident." He mumbled.

"Oh," Kurt dropped his hand back down on Blaine's chest. He looked toward the empty kitchen and fought back the sudden urge to cry; how was he supposed to initiate a conversation he knew was going to provoke a fight when Blaine wouldn't even exchange small talk? Blaine was never this…cold. The topic of revealing secrets would not make things any better.

Blaine had turned his attention back to the television, but he knew the tension he felt in the body beside him. Kurt only got tense that way when he was trying not to cry. He had made him cry. Great. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and tucked an arm around Kurt's waist; he wasn't sure if the feeling of Kurt melting into his side was more gut churning or heart wrenching. "I'm sorry… it's just been an off week."

"Because of Monday? In the bathroom?" Kurt sniffled.

"What?" Blaine had almost forgotten he had seen Kurt earlier in the week at all, "Oh! No, no; no. It's not that."

"What is it then?" Kurt turned his gaze back to Blaine; his eyes misty "Did your dad say something about you and Maddie?"

Blaine let a long breath out his nose, "My dad never directly says anything about my being gay, Kurt. It's all implied. But no, he hasn't said—or implied—anything."

Kurt knew there was something that had set Blaine off; his moods were not like Kurt's own: he never just woke up feeling bitchy or sad or aggressive. Blaine needed a match lit under any ill feelings he harbored to get them going. Kurt used a palm against his cheek to turn his face toward his own. "I know there is something you aren't telling me, Blaine. I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not." Blaine mumbled, resisting every urge that told him to pull away from such intimate contact. He met Kurt's gaze and held it, but he couldn't come up with anything to say. He loved those eyes. Loved the way they shone with tears when Kurt was overwhelmed by any emotion, the way they searched his own to hold a silent conversation; and the color, "I have family in Minnesota."

"Okay…" Kurt waited to see where Blaine was going with this.

"I went to visit them a couple times when I was a kid—they had a big house out on Lake Superior. I loved lying down in the rocks and getting my face so close to the water I couldn't see anything else, just because I liked the color... It was the same color as your eyes." Blaine's gaze held; he wanted to be soothed by seeing nothing but aquamarine—take sanctuary in the Zen of focusing on nothing but blue, blue, blue.

Kurt wasn't sure if this was meant to be a distraction, but he didn't care. Blaine's words gave him a thrill up his spine, and his gaze was so intense… He didn't close his eyes when he leaned in to press his mouth to the other boy's.

Blue and green and muted sunshine so close it blurred in his vision, but as soon as he let his eyes drift close a familiar taste filled his mouth; the sensation of someone else's hand on his waist. He broke the kiss off quickly, stumbling to his feet and toward the bathroom.

Kurt watched him go in mild terror. He had been careful; his hands mindful of their position, his mouth soft against his lover's, but he could hear Blaine choking in the bathroom all the same. His father was right; Blaine needed help. Kurt felt his own stomach twist with anxiety; Blaine was not going to be happy. Not one bit.

When Blaine returned, his face pale and his expression guilty, he didn't sit down.

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat; "Things aren't getting better, Blaine. They're getting worse."

Blaine remained where he stood in front of Kurt, his eyes cast down; a puppy knowing he'd done wrong. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Blaine." Kurt lifted a hand then dropped it back into his lap. How do you offer solace to a lover who doesn't want to be touched? "I love you. So much. But you need help I can't give you."

Blaine looked even more rejected, "I didn't mean to—I mean I wanted to be able to—I love you, too. I really do."

Kurt nodded slowly. It was now or never. "I know you do; so if you won't do it for yourself, I need you to do something for me."

Blaine's eyes finally shifted to Kurt's face; waiting.

"I need you to tell your parents the truth about what happened to you, Blaine." Kurt didn't feel the same sense of conviction he had forcing Blaine into this as he had making him confess his secrets in the hospital. This was a nasty trick to play, and they both knew it.

Blaine closed his eyes for a moment before shaking his head.

"Please, Blaine; you have to. They can get you the help—"

"I don't need help." Blaine was still shaking his head.

"You were just physically sick from me _kissing_ you, Blaine." It was Kurt's turn to look away. "This thing is going to eat you alive."

"No it won't; I've got it under control." Blaine folded his arms across his chest.

"You do _not_ have this under control, Blaine." Kurt whispered.

"I'll get it under control then." Blaine offered.

"I know you would if you could, Blaine; I don't doubt that for a second. But you shouldn't have to do it alone—what happened to you shouldn't have to happen to anybody and to keep it to yourself all this time—"

"I told someone and look where it got me!" Blaine shouted.

Kurt flinched, "If I could fix this for you, you know that I would. I would do anything to see you happy again, Blaine."

"Telling my parents isn't the way to do that Kurt. It'll kill them." Blaine pressed the bases of his palms against his eyes. He was getting a headache.

Kurt felt something unhinge in him; some nearly irrational sense of terror; he could barely speak for the sobs that constricted his chest, "It's going to kill _you_, Blaine. Eventually you're not going to be able to do this anymore."

"It won't, it won't; I won't let it get that far." Blaine sank to his knees in front of Kurt. "Please don't cry. Please. I'll figure it out, I promise."

Kurt couldn't help himself; he pressed a hand against Blaine's cheek, sucking in deep breaths to quell his tears. "I don't want you to find a way back to pretending, Blaine. I don't regret making you tell me, I only regret thinking I would be able to make this better for you on my own. That was selfish."

"I don't need you to make it better; I can do it." Blaine insisted.

"Blaine if you don't tell them, I will." Kurt had to physically dig his nails into his palms to hold Blaine's gaze.

"You wouldn't. You can't." Blaine looked stricken.

"I don't want to, Blaine; I don't want to feel like I'm punishing you for this, but they need to know." Kurt felt sick with himself and finally had to look away from Blaine's betrayed face.

"Please, Kurt; I'm begging you." Blaine clenched both of Kurt's hands between his own, and looked up at the other boy desperately, "I can't handle that right now, please."

"We can do it together if you want," Kurt, no longer able to look Blaine in the eye, stared down at their hands. "But it's happening."

Blaine's hands slipped from his and he sat back on the carpet, silent.

Kurt stared down at his hands in his lap as mute as his counterpart. His father had promised him three days. Three days to get Blaine to fess up himself or Burt Hummel was driving to New Albany himself, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

"Maybe we need to take a break."

Kurt's head snapped up at the sound of Blaine's voice, "Excuse me?"

Blaine was pulling at the edge of the bandage on his hand; he remained silent.

"You don't mean that." Kurt said carefully.

"This isn't working, Kurt; you said so yourself." Blaine's eyes remained on his hands.

"I meant we needed to find a way to fix this, not that we needed to break up." Kurt tried to ignore the voice inside of him that wanted to scream and cry and swear not to rat on Blaine. "You just told me you loved me, Blaine."

"And I do," Blaine's voice wavered, "but I can't do this right now. I'd be lying if I said I could."

Kurt caved to his desperate side when Blaine slowly got to his feet, "We don't have to tell your parents… not right now anyway. Blaine, you're being irrational."

"I was being irrational when I thought I could keep doing this, Kurt. It's not fair to you." Blaine swallowed hard, moving toward the door.

"Blaine, please, I didn't mean any of it. Please let's talk about this." Kurt stumbled to his feet, not bothering to find his crutch.

"I'll call you later." Blaine murmured, pulling his shoes on with shaky fingers.

"This cannot just be it, Blaine." Kurt pleaded, but he didn't know what to do. Blaine was already reaching for the door.

Blaine paused, his hand on the knob.

Kurt didn't move when Blaine's hand slipped from the door and his eyes turned back toward him. He didn't dare breathe when Blaine walked back to him, and he wished he could even stop his heart from beating if it would keep the boy he loved so close.

Blaine searched Kurt's eyes for a moment; a silent plea Kurt couldn't read before pressing his lips to his forehead and wrapping him into a tight hug. "For now, this is what it has to be."

Before Kurt could react- speak, grab a hold of him; do _something._ Blaine was gone. The door clicking shut behind him sooner that Kurt had registered he was no longer in his arms.

* * *

…_And I find it kind of funny_

_I find it kind of sad…_

_Day 2_

"Honey, you look terrible." Shannon Anderson abandoned the ribbon she had been tying around a gift basket to intercept her son on his way through the kitchen.

"I'm fine, Mom." Blaine mumbled, side-stepping around her to pull a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.

"You're not running too hard, again, are you?" She took another step behind him; eyeing his pale skin.

"I just got out of bed." He replied; he tried to slip around her again to go back to his room, but she remained firmly in his path.

She caught him gently by the shoulders and pressed her lips to his forehead, "You have a terrible fever, baby."

"I'm fine. I just have a headache." Blaine shied away from her hold, "I'm just going to go lay down."

"Stop right there, mister." His mother caught a hold of the back of his shirt, effectively stopping him once again.

With little other choice, Blaine stood silently as Shannon pulled down a bottle of ibuprofen from a cupboard. She shook three into his palm. "They'll bring your fever down."

"Thanks." He chased the pills with a drink of water and made a hasty exit before she could try offering breakfast. When Tucker chased after him, Blaine gently shooed him away, finally closing the door in his face when he continued to chase Blaine up the stairs.

He lay on his back atop the covers of his bed. His eyes caught a little blur of movement on the wall. A spider. He rolled onto his side and watched it skitter across the white paint until it froze a few inches from the bathroom door. He focused his attention on it so hard, it blurred in his vision- it's spindly legs blurring into a larger black mass.

He felt like he should feel something. Guilt. Disgust. Self-loathing. But there was nothing. His mind felt more vacant than the white wall he stared at. The spider was moving again; up the edge of the doorframe and then back down again toward its original position.

"Blaine?" His mother knocked so softly, Blaine almost missed the sound.

"Yeah?" Blaine called back, his eyes drifting toward the door when he heard the latch click open.

"Look who I found in the hallway laying outside your door." His mother smiled when Tucker jumped onto Blaine's bed, nosing at him affectionately and crying softly, "You always want him with you when you're sick. Didn't you hear him out there?"

"I'm not sick, Mom." Blaine sat up in bed, pushing at Tucker gently to lie down quietly, "It's just a headache."

Tuck pressed himself close to Blaine's side, still crying and pawing at his side for attention. Blaine rubbed his back absently until the dog quieted.

His mother seated herself on the edge of his bed and touched the back of her hand to his forehead, "Do you think you're getting migraines again? We could get you another prescription for them."

"Maybe." Blaine shrugged.

She let her hand fall back to her lap, "You haven't had a migraine in a long time; maybe last night was just too much activity—you seemed a little ill at dinner."

"Maybe." Blaine agreed again.

"I have to go deliver those donation baskets from last night." She offered after a momentary silence.

Blaine nodded absently, still stroking Tucker's side.

"Will you be all right by yourself?" She studied him almost anxiously.

Blaine would have laughed if he could remember how, "I'm seventeen, Mom; I can handle being home alone with a headache."

"I just don't want to find you dead from a cerebral hemorrhage or something when I get home." She smiled.

"Theme of one of your recent book club reads?" Blaine mumbled, closing his eyes.

"Oh, hush. Are you sure you'll be all right? You just seem horribly off, honey." She checked his temperature a third time as though she expected some sort of massive spike in the three minutes since her last check up. "I might be gone for quite a while… you can invite your friend Kurt over if you'd like."

"He can't drive right now," In all truthfulness, Blaine had no idea if Kurt could drive with his cast, but Kurt—with all his questions and immediate intuition of something as minor as a sliver bothering Blaine—was the last person Blaine wanted to see that day, " but I'll be fine by myself. "

"Well, if you're sure- Oh!"

Blaine opened his eyes and followed his mother's wide eyes to the wall.

"Disgusting." His mother muttered, plucking a book from Blaine's bookshelf before stalking toward the wall, the book already raised.

"No, don't." Blaine shoved himself up off the bed, catching her arm lightly to stop it before she could swing it down.

"Blaine—" His mother protested, her nose wrinkling when the spider retreated.

Blaine pressed one palm against the wall and corralled the arachnid with the other toward it until his fingers were closed around it. "Could you open the window?"

His mother gave him a funny look before moving to push the window frame open.

Blaine leaned out and tipped the spider down onto the overhang of the roof. He watched it skitter away until it blended with the black of the shingles. When he pulled his head back in and shut the glass tightly, his mother was watching him. "What?"

She laughed and kissed his cheek, "Such a sensitive soul, Blaine."

He felt his stomach churn at her words, but she was already moving toward the door, "do you want me to pick you up anything while I'm out?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Blaine listened to her steps down the stairs, the sound of her getting her keys and the crinkle of cellophane as she gathered up her baskets. Finally the door slammed and the car pulled out of the garage. Blaine sat back down on his bed, his back against the headboard. With his little friend from the wall gone onto bigger and better places and Tucker snoring beside him, he had nothing to occupy his mind. He pulled the Swiss army knife from his pocket, pulling out each of its little attachments and snapping them back into place. The corkscrew so small he had never figured out what it was good for, the scissors, the serrated blade, the plastic toothpick (another item he found a bit nonsensical), and finally the biggest blade. He had felt a rush of adrenaline as a preteen, flipping out the sharp steel edge. He felt no such rush now, staring at the cold metal. Open, shut, open, shut, open, shut; open. His mind drifted as he ran the pad of his index finger over its edge. It snagged his skin and three neat beads of crimson bubbled up. He watched it slip down his finger slowly; drying before it could even touch his palm. He felt a strange dip of disappointment watching it stop so quickly.

He closed his hand down around the blade, clamping his fingers tight against it. He let out a soft gasp when he felt it bite into his skin. He let go and watched the puddle of red that formed- faster and heavier than the little scrape to his finger, and then it was sliding down his arm. Fast. _What the hell am I doing?_

Blaine dropped the knife to the floor and stumbled into the bathroom. But before he turned on the sink, he hesitated for a moment longer, turning his wrist so he could watch in the mirror. His gaze shifted from his bloody palm to his own eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He stuck his hand under the sink, using his good hand to hold it steady at the wrist. He didn't like watching it tremble like that.

All at once, he wanted Kurt. _Needed_ Kurt. To tell him it was going to be okay, to hug him so tight it hurt, to make him feel safe again. _Tomorrow; I'll go over there tomorrow. _He couldn't tell Kurt anything, and it wouldn't change what he had gotten himself into, but he could at least take momentary sanctuary in being close to the boy he loved. _You can keep last night out for a few hours to be with him_, he reassured himself as he wrapped his hand. Life hadn't dropped the book down on him yet; he still had Kurt.

* * *

_Now let's not get selfish_

_Did you really think I'd let you kill this chorus?_

_Day 1_

Blaine stepped out of his car and slumped his back against its side. He stared over at the parking lots soul other occupant.

Eric was leaned against his passenger door, one ankle crossed over the other, a bottle of something amber colored dangling casually from one hand. He smiled at Blaine, "So glad you could make it."

Blaine folded his arms across his chest and glanced around the dark lot.

"The boys aren't here. Just the two of us tonight." Eric lifted the glass bottle and took a pull from it, his eyes never leaving Blaine.

Blaine regarded him for a moment, noting he was still in his dress shirt and pants, but he said nothing.

Eric put the bottle down on top of his car before making his way around to the driver's side door. He leaned in and cued up his radio before coming back around to the other side of the car. He grinned, "Who knew you could sing, Blaine? I had no idea; why didn't you tell me?"

"Must have slipped my mind." Blaine hated this part. The slow, methodical pleasantries—no matter how many times they had been through this, Blaine could never guess when things would suddenly turn ugly.

"I picked out this song just for you, B. Now that I know how much you appreciate music I felt like it was only right—and I owe you something for coming out here to see me tonight." Eric plucked the bottle from the top of the car again.

Blaine opted to ignore the music. He didn't need that tainted too.

"Say thank you, Blaine." Eric instructed flatly.

"Thank you." Blaine muttered, watching Eric as he danced his way toward him, humming along to the music.

When he was within a few feet, Eric extended the bottle to Blaine, eyebrows raised.

"No thanks." Blaine shook his head.

"I wasn't asking." Eric's arm remained extended.

Blaine sighed and took the bottle, studying the label for a moment before raising it to his lips. Scotch. It was hot and smooth in his mouth and warmed his chest before he had even lowered the bottle from his mouth. He offered the bottle back to Eric.

"Have another; you look like you could use it." Eric rolled the cuffs of his suit shirt up his forearms, still swaying to the music.

Blaine took another, longer pull; he was grateful for the slight softening it gave to his anxiety. When Eric still made no move to take the bottle back, Blaine set it down on the hood of his car.

"Lets get these teen hearts beating faster, faster…" Eric was singing along quietly, still swaying. If it had been anyone else, Blaine would have thought he was drunk. But this was not anybody else, and when the other boy took a few steps closer, he did not reek of alcohol—only a hint of it lingered on his breath when he spoke and his body smelled like cologne…and perfume.

"How did your date with Maddie turn out?" Eric queried.

"It was fine." Blaine held his ground when Eric came even closer. A retreat was never received well.

"Did you let her down easy?" Eric suddenly slammed his hips against Blaine's so forcefully, Blaine stumbled back against his car, "Or did you pity fuck her?"

Blaine swallowed hard; trying to focus on anything but how close Eric's body was to his. He could feel the heat radiating off the other boy's chest against his. "I told her I was seeing someone."

Eric pressed even closer for a moment while he leaned over to retrieve his bottle. He pouted. "You're no fun at all, Blaine. I hit Keira's sweet ass twice before I came out for our little tryst."

Blaine felt a little sick at the notion of one of Nadia's friends willingly submitting herself to the man pinning him against his own car.

Eric was still watching him, "How do you know you wouldn't like fucking a girl, Blaine?"

Blaine gritted his teeth together, trying to remain calm.

"Is it because you like fucking boys so much? Nothing else quite measures up?" Eric smoothed the shoulder of Blaine's shirt with his free hand. "Do you fuck Kurt, Blaine?"

Blaine flinched involuntarily. He wondered if Eric could feel his heartbeat quicken through their shirts.

"I can't imagine he'd be fucking _you_; he's such a delicate little thing, even with those fists flying—like an angry little bird." Eric chuckled, "…or maybe you two don't at all."

Blaine glanced over his shoulder when Eric reached behind them to set the bottle back down on the roof of the car. He was on guard for every movement.

"That's how things are, right? Aw, Jesus, I can just imagine," Eric chuckled, finally pulling a few inches away from Blaine, "He'll fool around as much as your little heart desires, but he's saving himself—his lovely, untouched pureness- for the perfect, romantic evening—candlelight with strawberries and champagne and all of that shit…and then there's you."

Blaine's eyes went back to Eric's face on their own accord. His voice was a hypnotizing charm he couldn't turn away from.

"See, for you, buddy boy, there are two problems." Eric lifted two fingers and pointed to the first, "one, you've been around the block… a few times now. Kurt doesn't need any of that back alley shit, does he?"

Blaine felt sick, but he couldn't look away.

"And two: in the end, we both know," Eric lowered his hand and ran it down Blaine's neck until he was tracing the collar of his shirt; he moved his face in so close his lips brushed his ear when he spoke, "for you, it will always just be me."

Eric had anticipated Blaine's sudden attempt to break free, he pressed his back hard against the car- giving him nowhere else to go.

"Hush, hush now," Eric was using both hands to pin Blaine's shoulders to the metal behind him, "No need for theatrics; I only want one little thing from you tonight, Blaine."

"What?" Blaine mumbled, his heart thrumming in his ears.

"A kiss." Eric smiled.

Blaine stared at him blankly. Eric had made him do a lot of things, but never that. "W-what?"

"You heard me." Eric eyed Blaine's mouth. "I want you to kiss me the way you kiss him."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Blaine would have crumbled to the ground if Eric's bodies weren't pressed so closely to his. "Is it because you're in the closet? You're angry? What?"

"Oh, Blaine, don't be so fucking stupid." Eric laughed, "After all our time together, you still don't get it, do you?"

Blaine held his gaze, but he was given no response to his question.

"I'm waiting, Blaine." Eric lifted his hands from his shoulders and tapped a finger to the crystal face of his watch.

Blaine hesitated; still not trusting the situation. Eric never wanted anything small; anything innocent.

"Do it or I'll drive to Lima right now and fuck that little bitch until he screams for mercy." Eric's voice was suddenly cold.

Blaine seized his face between his hands and pressed his mouth to the other boy's. Cinnamon, scotch, and smoke. The taste burned his tongue and would creep back onto his palate for another two days after- making it almost impossible for him to keep a meal down for more than an hour or two, but he didn't know that then.

When he pulled away, Eric licked his lips and smiled, "Not bad, Blaine; not bad at all."

Blaine folded his arms across his chest tightly.

Eric picked up his bottle in one hand and reached out with the other toward Blaine. He ran his fingers down the front of Blaine's shirt, affectionately reached up to smooth his hair, and finally let his hand come to rest on his cheek. "I'll be in touch, but until then, I want you to remember this. Every time you kiss him, I want you to remember what you just did."

Blaine backed away from Eric like his palm had burned him, bumping into his car once again.

Eric seemed unfettered; he walked backward toward his own car, "Sweet dreams, Blaine."

A flash of headlights, the crunch of gravel beneath rubber, and then silence and darkness.

Blaine was alone.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed 23; thanks again for all your love and patience! **


	25. Chapter 24

**A/N: Good news/bad news time, everybody. Good news: I finished 24 before my European adventures (obviously since it's up here, but still yay :)) bad news: itll be June before I can update again since I'll be traipsing around France and Italy for the remainder of May. A few other little disclaimers/notes/odd and ends: this chapter is angsty and a bit violent (just wanted to give you the heads up). For those of you who are sensitive souls like our darling Blaine, I just want to reassure you: things will start getting brighter for our boys eventually; I know all this angsty stuff can get painful and emotionally exhausting, but lets face it, you don't go through something like what Blaine did and just pop back into singing and dancing around Ohio without a care in the world, and I feel I owe it to the characters and the story to let things progress as they need to (though i really do miss writing happy Blaine) give them some time, dear readers, Blaine and Kurt won't be such a mess forever :). **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee**

* * *

**Chapter 24**

"Blaine, what's the matter with you?" His father frowned at him over the top of his newspaper.

"Is your migraine back?" His mother added, already pulling the ibuprofen down from the cupboard.

"No, it's fine." Blaine mumbled, shoving his untouched plate away. The smell of eggs was making him nauseous; besides, he was too tired to chew.

"You look terrible," his father was still watching him, "you all right to go into work?"

"Yeah; I'll live." Blaine took the business section when his father offered it. He read listlessly about European debt crisis. His father dropped another section down on top of it.

Blaine glanced up at him questioningly, his father chuckled, "You loved the science section when you were a kid; do you remember?"

Blaine nodded, turning his attention to a story on NASA. His father had been nothing short of pleased with him since the benefit; a small ray of sunshine in an otherwise black week, and Blaine didn't feel like adding that to the list of things he'd screwed up. "Looks like being an astronaut is checked off my future careers list."

His father smiled briefly, "Not planning on going into business like your old man?"

Blaine shrugged, still scanning the article. He didn't know how he was making it through tonight, let alone how he was going to try and navigate his college path.

"Aren't you hungry, Blaine?" His mother glanced at his untouched plate.

Blaine shook his head, trying to look engrossed in the paper, but she continued to pry.

"You barely touched your dinner last night." Shannon glanced to her husband. "And you really do look dreadful, sweetie. What's going on?"

Blaine looked between them for a moment; he was momentarily reminded of the day he'd come out to them. Sitting at this same table with them staring at him with the same anxious expectancy as they gazed at him with now. He picked at the edge of the paper, "Kurt and I broke up."

"Oh, Honey, I'm sorry." His mother reached a hand out to touch his arm.

His father looked at him a moment longer before draining his coffee cup and getting up from the table. He put the mug in the dishwasher and washed his hands.

Blaine hadn't expected much of a reaction on his father's part other than perhaps a scowl. Over the past few years his father had, as far as Blaine could tell, moved from almost tangibly disliking him to quietly ignoring anything having to do with his sexuality. His father paused and touched a gentle hand to his shoulder on the way out the door. "There will be others, Blaine. Keep working hard; life will reward you eventually."

He turned to watch his father go—he wanted desperately to say something, though he wasn't entirely sure what, and John didn't look back. The garage door slammed shut and Blaine was left alone with his mother.

"What happened?" His mother was watching the doorway too, equally mesmerized by the near-show of affection, but then her attention was fully back to her son, "You two seemed so happy."

"We were." Blaine sat back in his chair. "It just wasn't enough, I guess."

"Blaine, you are as terrible as your father. You take yourself far too seriously;" Shannon shook her head, "you're seventeen years-old; your only job in the world right now is to be happy."

"And to give tours to Dalton freshman," Blaine glanced at the clock and got out of his chair, buttoning his blazer as he made his way to the door.

"Could you stop by the Club after work and pick up my punchbowl?" His mother called after him.

"Sure." Blaine called back, stepping out into the muggy summer air. He glanced up at the clouds- they were low and heavy; another storm was brewing.

Blaine dropped his phone down into its usual residence in his cup holder. He would have abandoned it in his room so he didn't have to think about the calls he was rejecting from Kurt, but there were other contacts he could not afford to ignore. Kurt's calls the first couple nights had all ended with long-winded voicemails—begging him to reconsider their split, to talk to him, tell him how he could make it right. The third and fourth day he had been left only two voicemails. That morning, Kurt's number was not on his missed calls list.

Despite the messy voicemails and the sporadic schedule of calls, Blaine fell asleep and awoke to the same text lighting up his phone's screen each day. _It's not over_. _I love you_.

He'd already received the message that day, and he awaited the bittersweet moment he would see it later that night after he'd returned from the park and tried to find some quiet spot in his mind to sleep. He never responded—even if he wanted to, he wouldn't know what to say. I'm sorry? I didn't mean it? I love you, too? I don't deserve you?

His phone vibrated noisily. He snatched it up quickly but took a steadying breath before hitting the accept button. "What?"

"Hello to you, too. Did you sleep nicely last night, baby?"

"When?" Blaine slumped in his seat when he pulled into the Dalton lot.

"When what, Blaine?" Eric queried innocently.

Blaine remained mute and waited.

"Meet me at the front entrance to the park; nine o clock; we're going to have a bit of fun tonight, so wear something pretty." Eric supplied after a short pause.

"The front entrance?" Blaine glanced at the clock. He was going to be late if he didn't get inside now.

"You heard correct. Don't be late. Have a nice day at work, dear." Eric hung up.

Blaine watched the call time blink at him and finally go black. He could wonder over what Eric had planned later; he was now officially three minutes late for work. He dropped the phone in his seat and jogged inside. He smiled at the group of preteens and their parents waiting in the entrance. _Hi, I'm Blaine Anderson, I'm queer as a three dollar bill and currently moonlighting as a play-thing-slash-punching-bag for a sociopath five nights a week in hopes of keeping him away from my ex-boyfriend, and I have issues with people touching me so keep your fucking hands off the blazer, thanks. _"Hi, I'm Blaine Anderson and I'll be your tour guide today. Welcome to Dalton!"

* * *

"Kurt; I already gave you two extra days."

"So give me two more." Kurt glanced toward the family room where Finn was watching TV.

"No way, kiddo. This was not the deal." Burt kept his voice quiet, as mindful as Kurt that Finn was in the next room.

"It wasn't in the deal that he would break up with me over this either, Dad." It didn't matter how many times he said it or how many times Blaine had ignored his calls; tears still stung his eyes and his voice went tight with suppressed sobs. "If you do this, he will never take me back."

"If he is so messed up with this—which I'm not saying he doesn't deserve to be—that he's willing to break up with you in the first place, then we definitely have to do something, Kurt. If I were his parent, and I found out another parent knew what had happened and hadn't told me—"

"Then maybe I shouldn't have told you!" Kurt shouted, not caring if Finn heard him. He was at the end of his rope. He'd left enough voicemails he was sure to merit as obsessive, and he'd even considered calling Nadia to try and stage an intervention on Blaine, but then thought better of it. The last thing he needed was to spill Blaine's secrets to another person.

"You did the right thing, and you know it, Kurt." Burt squeezed his son's arm lightly.

"Everything's an even bigger mess than it was before." Kurt sniffled, wrapping his arms around his middle. "He hates me."

"He loves you." Burt said softly.

"You did not see the way he looked at me when I told him I was going to tell his parents. If I had slapped him across the face, he couldn't have looked more betrayed." Kurt sank down into one of the kitchen chairs, biting a thumbnail. He pulled it out of his mouth quickly. He was picking up on Blaine's bad habits.

"It's going to be hard at first, buddy, but in the long run he'll love you even more for this." Burt knelt down so he could be eye level with his son.

Kurt looked away from his father, blinking away the remainder of his tears.

Burt studied him in silence for a moment, "Why don't you come with me? We can all sit down together and figure this out."

"Blaine doesn't want to see me. He's made that pretty clear." Kurt snapped. He wasn't so sure he wanted to see Blaine either for the moment he showed up on his doorstep with his father in tow.

"He's going to need you, Kurt." Burt rested a hand on Kurt's knee. "More than ever. I know it's not easy, but hard times are what define a strong relationship. He was your friend before he was your boyfriend and he stood by you in some pretty tough times. If you decide you two can't be together, that's your decision, but he needs a friend right now whether he realizes it or not."

Kurt remained mute, then finally looked at his father, "…okay."

"Okay?" Burt straightened up, offering a hand.

Kurt took it and pulled himself up. "Okay, let's go."

* * *

When Blaine got in his car after his double shift of mothers who insisted on sneaking up on him and tapping him on the back, fathers who clapped him too hard on the shoulder, and bored adolescent boys who bumped into him at every corner, he had to sit quietly for a moment and gather himself. He was starting to lose his touch. He'd scared a red headed mother by nearly jumping out of his skin when she pressed her hand against his back to get his attention, and he'd given up singing despite the pleas of his tour groups. Maybe Kurt was right…maybe he needed- _no, I'm fine. I've got this. Eric has to go to college or something at the end of August, right? Then—_then what? He could magically get over his intimacy issues? Get back with Kurt and act like nothing ever happened? Tuck his bad dreams in the donation box with his old summer clothes to be shipped away? He glanced at his phone and sighed. He had a missed call from Kurt. He was about to set his phone back down when it started vibrating in his palm. Kurt's name appeared on the screen in bold, black letters. Maybe it was his paranoid reverie or maybe he just really couldn't resist not hearing that voice for another day; whatever the reasoning, he answered. "Hello?"

"Blaine! You—you actually picked up." Kurt sounded alarmed.

Blaine didn't say anything.

"Blaine, I- the other day, I don't think—" Kurt let out a long, shuddery sigh, "I miss you, Blaine."

Blaine heard his own voice, quiet, "I miss you, too."

"I didn't mean to make you feel like I was giving you an ultimatum, Blaine, but you know I love you and I just want to make things better." Kurt was stumbling over his words; rushing to get his thoughts out before Blaine could change his mind about speaking with him and hang up. He wanted him to have fair warning about what was about to happen.

Blaine still remained mute, staring at the bottom of his steering wheel.

"None of this should have happened, Blaine." Kurt said softly.

Blaine wasn't sure if Kurt was referring to their recent experiences or his past with Eric, but he felt tears sting his eyes all the same.

"You deserve to be happy, Blaine, and I feel like you're the only person who doesn't see that." Kurt's voice wavered, "you believe everybody else can and should have everything they want out of life, and you never even give yourself the chance. You fight for everyone but you."

"I—" Blaine didn't know what to say. He what? He was okay with being tortured by Eric? He liked being stepped on? He tried to chew at his thumbnail, but it was too short.

"That—" Blaine heard Kurt inhale and exhale deeply into the receiver before starting over. "That's why I'm going to do it for you, Blaine. If you can't love you enough to do this, then I can love you enough for both of us."

"What are you going to do?" Blaine straightened up in his seat, adrenaline making him edgy. Shit, this was not good.

"I'm going to talk to your parents, Blaine. Tonight."

"Kurt, please," Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, "please, don't do this. You _can't_ do this to me."

Kurt's voice shook, "I know you might hate me for this, Blaine, but I love you enough that I don't care. I just thought you deserved to… to know this was—"

A beep in Blaine's ear signaling a call on the other line clipped Kurt's voice short. Blaine pulled his phone away from his face to check the screen; he closed his eyes for a moment to center himself before pressing the phone back to his ear. "Kurt, could you please reconsider? Please."

"No, Blaine." Kurt sounded sad.

The phone beeped again.

Kurt seemed to interpret Blaine's silence as hesitance because he was suddenly babbling, "We can do it together, Blaine, I won't make you go through this alone, but—"

Another beep.

"I have to go, Kurt." Blaine knew better than to let the phone go to voicemail.

"But I—"

"Goodbye, Kurt." Blaine ended the call and took the other one quickly. "Hi, what?"

"Back lot. Now." Eric sounded... angry.

"I thought we were meeting at the front entrance at nine. It's barely seven." Blaine turned the keys over in the ignition despite his protests. Eric angry made him nervous.

"Well I'm fucking changing the plan, aren't I?" Eric snapped.

"Fine, I'll change and be over." Blaine wondered absently if he'd have to worry about Kurt intercepting him. He was suddenly much too hot; he pulled off his blazer and dropped it in the backseat.

Eric seemed to find himself for a moment; his voice took on its normal silky quality, "Unnecessary, Blaine. Leave it on. Maybe I'll fulfill a few schoolboy fantasies tonight."

Blaine flinched but didn't respond to the comment, "I'll be there in fifteen."

"I suggest you speed and make it ten. We have a few things to discuss." Eric hung up without further explanation.

Blaine felt a sickness forming in his stomach he was becoming used to. Eric had been playing cat and mouse all week. Sometimes he remained seated across the lot from Blaine for hours at a time without a single touch, other times he would press close to him, unbutton his shirt; run a fingertip along the hem of his jeans. Occasionally he would strike him without warning, but he otherwise had left him untouched. Blaine knew this tactic; he was trying to drive him crazy wondering when he was finally going to just go in for the kill. It was working.

And now this business with Kurt. He wasn't sure if it was an empty threat he could talk his way out of, or if Kurt was actually intending on acting, but either way, the idea needed to be stopped. Later. He would deal with that later, first he had Eric to tend to. He pulled into the lot and let out an audible groan. Max was with him.

His phone vibrated again. '_I wish I could send you a one-word text to make this all better, but I can't. You deserve better than nightmares, Blaine, I just wish you could see that. I love you.'_

Blaine dropped the phone into the passenger seat and climbed out of his car. He'd hardly slammed his car door shut when Eric backhanded him hard across the face.

Blaine stumbled back, a hand instinctively going to his stinging cheek.

"You stupid fucking faggot." Eric seethed, already coming at Blaine again, this time hitting him across the other cheek. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Blaine sidestepped away from his car. He knew better than to trap himself between the vehicle and Eric's fists.

"Guess who came to visit my house today. You have one try." Eric's voice calmed some as he turned his back on Blaine and moved toward his own car. He retrieved the bottle of scotch from the first night; it's contents considerably lower than the last time Blaine had seen it.

Blaine searched his head; he looked in horror at Eric. "Kurt didn't—"

Eric rolled his eyes as he took a long pull from the bottle. "And why would he be coming to _my _house, Blaine?"

Blaine was too relieved to be afraid of Eric in that moment. Rain was starting to fall.

"The police, asshole. That's who was at the door this morning." Eric took another drink. "Wanting to ask some more questions about the incident involving your darling faggot boyfriend and some other 'potentially related incidences'."

"You know anything about _that_, Blaine?" Max finally chimed in. He was leaned against Eric's car; his arms folded across his chest.

Blaine shook his head; his hair sending little droplets of water down his forehead with the action. "I don't know why they were there. I swear."

Max stared at him cynically, but Blaine turned his attention to Eric.

"You know I wouldn't tell."

Eric studied him and smiled, "No, I suppose you wouldn't. But that doesn't change the fact that someone did, and I'm a tad bit upset about it, Blaine. It made a real mess for me to clean up with my father."

"What about your faggot boyfriend, did he rat on us?" Max glowered at Blaine suspiciously.

Blaine lied seamlessly, "He wouldn't have anything to say except that you almost killed him. He doesn't know anything else."

Max rolled his eyes, "Stop being a fucking drama queen, Blaine, we just put him in his place."

"You put him in a near coma and almost cost him his life." Blaine seethed, taking a step toward Max.

"That's a fucking lie, Anderson." Max bit back, but he turned to Eric.

"Children, play nice." Eric moved between them.

Blaine studied Eric for a moment, "what did you tell them happened to Kurt, Eric?"

"Now, Blaine, let's not be turning tables, I do believe I said earlier that you had one guess as to who came to visit me today," Eric tipped his bottle to his lips; when he lowered it, it was empty, "Max, was Blaine's guess correct?"

Max looked unsettled, but he shook his head.

"No? Too bad." Eric sighed and moved closer to Blaine, smiling. When he was less than a foot away, his face turned down into a sneer. Blaine saw the flash of his arm lifting, but only felt the blow across the back of his head. He registered the sound of glass breaking, but then his ears were ringing and his vision blurred. Hadn't this happened before? A crack, a flash, that sound, those stars? No, it couldn't happen again. Blaine wouldn't allow it.

"—Let's just go, Eric. Come on, it's raining and I'm sick of this shit." Max was whining, but Eric's focus was on Blaine on his hands and knees, blinking over and over again as though he couldn't quite see. Blood was staining the back of the white collar of his uniform shirt.

"Get on your feet, Blaine. Now." Eric tossed what was left of the bottle into the woods.

Blaine remained where he was, still blinking, and apparently disoriented.

Eric kicked him hard in the stomach. "Blaine, I am not going to fucking ask again!"

His vision had cleared and he could feel the bits of glass biting into his palms. He shoved himself to his feet a bit unsteadily, but with every passing second his brain was reorienting itself. He held Eric's gaze as best he could.

Eric smiled after a moment; "I gave you fair warning, Blaine, don't look at me like that."

Water was running down off his hair and into his eyes. He passed a hand through his curls to move the hair plastered to his forehead. His fingers briefly touched the hot gash at the back of his head. It was big and deep, but he could worry about that later.

Eric glanced at his forehead and smiled, "I don't think I ever did ask you, did you like my present? Kurt's new accessory?"

"Eric, let's just go to the party and—" Max glanced toward the sky as the rain continued to poor down.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Max; we are not finished here." Eric's voice was smooth. "Don't you think Blaine looks nice in his uniform?"

"Sure, whatever. Let's go." Max shoved his back off the car, agitated and restless suddenly.

Eric turned his attention back to Blaine. "I bet Kurt has a matching uniform. How fucking cute must you two have been at Dalton together—singing and holding hands and living the fuckin' dream."

"I never said Kurt went to Dalton." The less Eric knew of Kurt, the better.

"I know plenty of things you don't tell me, B. I make it my business to know." Eric smiled and tapped a finger against his temple, "and it's not like I don't know how to get entirely into your head anyway."

Blaine glanced at Max again, "why did you bring him tonight?"

"I know how much you enjoy our one-on-one time, but I require his services this evening." Eric reached out and traced his thumb across a diagonal line of navy on Blaine's tie.

"Have you been coming out here without us, Eric?" Max looked bewildered.

"I'm terrible at sharing," Eric said ruefully, but his eyes remained on Blaine, "I'm loving this schoolboy routine, B, but where in the world is your blazer?"

"Back of the car." Blaine muttered.

Eric smiled again, tugging him closer by the tie still in his grip. "How naughty to not keep your full uniform on, Blaine. I think you need to be punished."

Blaine jerked away, but it had little effect with Eric's hold on his uniform.

"Blaine, settle down, rules are rules." Eric tried to catch a hold of one of his arms, "Max, a little help would be nice."

"Come on Eric, let the kid be. I thought we were going to a party." Max shook the water from his hair.

"We were, and Blaine was going to get to come, but there's been a change in plans." Eric jerked Blaine back towards him, finally catching a hold on his forearm. He twisted it behind his back. "Now, if you wouldn't mind—"

"No way, Eric, this is fucking sick. We can't keep doing this. What if we did almost kill that kid, huh? I'm not gonna fucking be responsible for that shit." Max backed away.

"Then wait in the fucking car you fucking chicken shit." Eric shouted over the rain.

"Max, please—" Blaine looked over at him desperately as Eric twisted his arm behind him tighter.

Max had one hand on the car door but his eyes remained on Blaine.

"Blaine, we had a deal." Eric kicked his feet out from under him and pinned him to the wet pavement with a knee in his back. "Do we need to have a talk?"

Blaine tried to clamber free, but Eric grabbed a hold of his hair, pressing the base of his palm into the gash on Blaine's scalp and his cheek back down against the asphalt.

"I'll kill you if you don't fucking settle down, do you hear me?" Eric yelled in his ear and dug his knee in harder.

"Go ahead and do it then." Blaine snarled back. "Fucking kill me. I'd rather be dead than do this again."

"Eric—" Max was practically whimpering.

"I told you to wait in the damn car." Eric snapped at him before turning his attention back to Blaine. "As for you, baby; maybe I was a little harsh with the death threats. Let me rephrase; settle down or I will _make_ you settle down."

Blaine ignored his threats. He kicked his feet and tried to twist out from beneath Eric's weight; all the while screaming to Max, "Please, Max, please don't let him—"

"So help me God, Blaine, I will break both your knees if I have to so I can get what I want, then I'll go to Lima, and I will kill your fucking boyfriend." Eric slammed Blaine's face against the ground once before leaning in close to his ear. His voice shook with fury, "Do not forget for one second that I own you."

Blaine quieted for a moment, stunned from the impact of his head on the pavement, but his mind raced.

Eric took his quiet for compliance and eased up his knee. When Blaine remained still, he chuckled, "that's a good boy."

Blaine remained still while Eric rubbed soft circles on the small of Blaine's back where he had previously dug his knee in.

"You see, Blaine? We can play nice." Eric straightened up and pulled Blaine up with him by the crook of his elbow. "Come on over here; that's a sweet boy. Such a good little listener, aren't you?"

Blaine walked quietly in front of Eric toward his car, but his head was still busy; thoughts moving so fast he couldn't catch a hold of one to take a good look at what it was about.

"This should work out all right." Eric looked over the trunk of the car; he patted it almost affectionately before stepping behind Blaine. He rested his chin on his shoulder. "Now it really will be just like old times, Blaine."

Blaine stood silently with his hands in his pockets, but when he felt Eric's hands slip down his sides to snake around his waist he finally grabbed a hold of just one coherent thought. _Enough. I have had enough_. His fingers closed around the only thing in his pocket and he twisted around in Eric's hold and threw himself against the other boy, dropping them both to the ground. His body worked on its own accord, kicking and hitting and screaming, until someone was screaming over his own voice and the sound of thunder and dragging him backwards off the body beneath him.

"Blaine, stop it; you'll fucking kill him!" Max pinned Blaine against his own body, both of his wrists in vice-like grips, "I'm not going to hurt you, settle the fuck down."

Blaine stopped fighting, but his breath was coming out in short ragged bursts. Eric wasn't moving.

"Listen to me, Blaine, you need to get out of here." Max's voice trembled beside his ear. "I- listen, I'm fucking sorry about—about Kurt and you and—I just— I'll deal with Eric, but you need to get the fuck out of this place."

"I—I—" Blaine wasn't sure what had happened. Eric moaned, one hand lifting limply before dropping back down, "I wasn't—"

"We are all going to be in deep shit if you don't make yourself scarce right now. You can get yourself put back together again without letting anyone catch on. You're good at that shit still, r-right?" Max still had a hold of his wrists; his chest shook against Blaine's back.

Blaine nodded numbly.

Max let go of him and stepped away quickly as though frightened Blaine might suddenly turn on him. "Good. Now go."

But Blaine couldn't move; he stared transfixed at Eric. Blood. There was so much blood.

"Jesus Christ, Blaine." Max's voice cracked with hysteria, "Please just go so I can deal with this shit."

Blaine felt his feet taking him toward his car. He didn't look back as he pulled out of the lot. He didn't know where he was going until he was parked in the driveway.

* * *

"How do you know all of this?" John Anderson broke the long silence that had held the kitchen captive. His eyes bore into the man across from him. A man he didn't even know.

Burt nodded his head toward his son. Kurt's eyes were closed and his hands trembled where they sat folded on the table. "Kurt?"

"Blaine—" Kurt's eyes fluttered open, but he couldn't look at the Andersons. "H-he told me; in the hospital about…about what they did to him."

Shannon Anderson shook her head, glowering at Kurt, "You're a liar."

"Mrs. Anderson, I—" Kurt looked pleadingly at her.

"That did not happen to my son. To my child." She stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You're making this all up!"

"I wish I was, Mrs. Anderson, I really do." Kurt's voice trembled. "Blaine, he worked really hard to keep you safe from this; h-he was sure it would…it would break your heart."

"No, the only heart broken in this house is his because of _you_; you're just trying to hurt him more!" Shannon's voice broke with distress.

Kurt stared at her in mute horror.

"Mrs. Anderson," Burt rested a soothing hand on his son's shoulder, but his gaze remained on the woman standing at the opposite side of the table, "I think there's been some confusion with all of this, and that's understandable. Blaine ended things with Kurt because—"

"No he did not! He was devastated just this morning," Shannon looked to her husband, "John, tell them."

John lifted a hand and coaxed his wife back down into the seat beside him before speaking; his voice calm, "Blaine is a well-adjusted boy; he would have told us if—"

"Like he told you about his broken ribs? Like how he told you about every single nightmare? Like how he told you about where that gash on his forehead came from? Or why he walks into a room like he thinks someone might attack him?" Kurt snapped. "He would do anything, _anything _to keep from disappointing you. Even if it meant hiding this. Do not tell me you would have known if something like that were going on either; you chose not go see what was happening to him."

John stood up abruptly. Being told by a stranger in an oily baseball cap that someone had raped his son was bad enough, but the insolence of this child, of his words, was too much. His throat felt tight, his palms sweaty. This wasn't possible. Blaine—he was at times egocentric, arrogant, petulant, moody— but he was not the victim of something that macabre. It would have shown. John would have _had _to have seen something that dark.

Burt glanced between his son and the well-dressed man in front of them. He opened his mouth to offer some sort of calmer middle ground, but the sound of the front door slamming silenced all of them. No footsteps followed.

_Blaine. _Kurt pushed himself out of his chair, hoping to give him some warning about what he was about to walk into, but the two other men followed him toward the doorway.

Shannon remained frozen in her seat. Something did not feel right to her. She could remember the moment the doctor had first given her her newborn son. The soft warmth of him in her arms; the smell of his hair. She was forever in tune after that moment of when her child was near; a feeling that's sudden absence at random moments in the night could startle her awake. She did not recognize the feeling she had now. It locked her in her chair and made the world spin slower.

Kurt stopped short when he saw the boy in the entry, the others halting behind him just as abruptly.

Blaine's shirt was torn and stained red and his hair clung to his bloody forehead, but it was not the blood that had frozen Kurt in his place. It was his eyes. Wide and terrified, they moved around the room as though searching for something desperately; hopelessly.

When Blaine registered the presence of others, his gaze moved past Kurt and straight through Burt Hummel. His eyes locked on his father's face. Something fell from his hand and hit the wood floor with a resounding clatter. John Anderson stared down at the red plastic; the exposed blade; then he turned his gaze back up to his son.

Blaine stared back; horrified, "I s-screwed up bad this time, Dad. I screwed up so bad."

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed 24; thanks as always for being amazingly wonderful readers and reviewers- i've loved the opportunity to chat with some of you via inbox messages and you are all seriously 100% awesome, I promise as soon as I am back on Midwestern soil and no longer jet-lagged I will get to work on pulling together 25; until then, ciao ;)**


	26. Chapter 25

**A/N: Guess who is home in the states :) :) Europe was absolutely fantastic; I wish I could send our sad little Blaine there for a getaway from all his angsty stuff haha. I'm sorry to have left you guys hanging on chapter 24, but lucky for all of you, I started 25 before I left and then I was stranded at the airport for three hours while I waited for my ride home so I had lots of time to sit and work :) You can also thank some seriously irritating jet lag that caused me to be awake at 4 this morning which gave me some serious writing and editing time haha. Not a whole lot to say about this chapter...Oh! for those of you wondering about the three songs in chapter 23 (was it 23? 22? I can't remember...) they were Skinny Love by Bon Iver, Mad World by Gary Jules and Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off by Panic!At the Disco (I forgot to mention that in 24 or whatever chapter followed, so there you have it :) ) Well then, without further ado, here it is: chapter 25! Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

**Chapter 25**

Kurt was ready to run to Blaine, fold him up in his arms; protect him from whatever he had done. But he didn't move fast enough.

John Anderson was suddenly beside his son, one arm around his waist, the other locked on his shoulder as he half-dragged him toward the kitchen and then to the sink. He turned the tap on full blast.

Blaine was still babbling. His words a garbled mess of disfluent consonants and slurred vowels. "I didn't mean to; but-I- Oh, God, I screwed up so bad-"

John's arm remained tight around his son's waist to keep him from collapsing to the ground, but he freed his other hand from around his shoulders and stuck it under the tap, gauging the temperature. When he seemed satisfied, he grabbed Blaine's wrist and made to shove it under the running water, but Blaine's hand was clamped tightly shut. He pried his fingers open. A little puddle of crimson welled up in his cupped palm. John ignored the sound of his wife moaning somewhere behind him; he was too busy focusing on keeping Blaine's bloody palms beneath the faucet. Blood mixed with water and flowed over both of their hands and down the drain. When the left one was clean, John did the same to the right until the water ran clear in the bottom of the sink. He let go of Blaine just long enough to get a dishtowel from the drawer.

He dried Blaine's hands, remembering vacantly when Blaine used to come in after playing in the yard—his knees and fingers caked with mud—and how he scrubbed them clean just as he did now. He pressed a fresh paper towel into Blaine's left hands and closed Blaine's fingers around it. John turned the tap as cold as it would go and held the dishtowel underneath.

Blaine's gaze was locked on his face, but John could not bring himself to meet his son's eyes. He focused on the blood; some flowed from gashes in his face, while some dried in places that had been left unscathed—John wiped at all of it with no discrimination. The only sounds were his wife's cries, running water, and Blaine's endless stream of remorse.

"Dad, dad—" he kept whimpering, "I'm sorry, oh Jesus, I'm so s-sorry—"

"Stop it. " John's hands locked on either side of Blaine's face seemingly on their own accord. His eyes met his son's. "Now."

Blaine obediently clamped his mouth shut, but his eyes continued the sad babble of anguish; searching his father's.

"I don't care what you did. You have nothing to apologize for." His father spoke through gritted teeth; his fingers pressed hard into his son's damp hair, his thumbs angling his jaw up so their eyes could meet.

"He m-m-might—I-I maybe—" Blaine was stammering again.

He'd had a stutter as a child. It had only been for a couple of years and with a little speech therapy and the power of time, it had suddenly evaporated on it's own. But listening to him now, John remembered his four year-old son; trailing after him only seconds after he had walked in the door from work, endlessly chattering. That disfluent little voice going on and on about the paper spider he had made at daycare, about Nadia Fisher and him collecting the shiniest rocks on the whole playground and how he could have the neatest one to put on his desk at work if he wanted, and about how he was going to probably be a professional baseball player someday on account of he had been the only one to hit the ball off the tee on his first try at practice that day.

"That's great, Blaine." He would say, unknotting his tie and hanging it with the rest while Blaine bounced at his feet- wired with energy that only a child can possess. "Try talking a little slower; remember what Miss Nora taught you in speech."

Blaine would look put-off, his little mouth turning down at the corners and his big brown eyes falling to his shoes.

And John would feel guilty for having caused disappointment in such an seraphic little child. _His_ child. He'd get down on one knee, tip Blaine's chin up so their eyes could meet and he would smile. "I'm so proud of you, Blaine; you're such a good boy."

Blaine had never stopped in his seventeen years at trying to elicit that same reaction time and time again. Baseball teams and straight A's and impeccable manners that all of the other parents raved over. Anything to cover the one black mark he could not take back, but it was to no avail. Blaine had tried and tried, and John had never shown that any of it was good enough.

But now, listening to that same stutter and staring into those same desperate eyes, John could not help feeling that maybe…maybe _he_ hadn't been good enough. "I am going to fix this; do you understand me?"

Blaine stared back at him with wide, lost eyes.

"I said do you understand me?" John shouted.

"Yes." Blaine whispered.

He let go of his son's face and wrapped both arms around him so tightly it nearly hurt, his fingers pressed into his back, and Blaine's dark hair pressed to the side of his face.

Blaine's body trembled against his as he sobbed, his face buried in his father's shoulder, and his own hands tightly clamped around fistfuls of his father's shirt as though he was afraid he would be forced away.

"Everything's all right now." John muttered, pressing one hand to the back of Blaine's head. The hair felt the same- soft, thick, and warm beneath his hand. When had he forgotten his child? The five year-old whose voice and laughter had once filled the house and left long-winded messages on his voicemail when he was out of town. The seven-year old who had carefully aligned all of his John Deere tractors by size and function on his bedroom floor; the fifth grader who had run through the backyard dribbling a soccer ball from one end of the lawn to the other until it was too dark to see. John's memories were as clear as though he had just experienced them— Blaine so engrossed in his tractors that he bit his tongue between his teeth as he planned out their categorization, the sound of the soccer ball against his cleats, but after that… John only had one clear memory.

Blaine's face angled down. His hands folded limply in his lap.

"You're…you're sure?" Shannon had sat beside her husband, her voice wavering, yet unsurprised. She had known, John was sure, but now it was lying out in the open on the kitchen table. An ugly thing for them to all look at.

"Yes." Blaine's face had remained lowered, his eyes on the table.

A long silence.

"You're still our son, Blaine. We still love you." Shannon had finally said when John offered nothing. She squeezed her husband's knee beneath the table, signaling him to act.

Blaine looked between them, still tense in his chair. Everyone always commented on those eyes—striking and warm simultaneously. They were a carbon copy of John's, and people would laugh affectionately over how much the two of them looked alike. But as they looked to John that day—three days after Blaine had turned thirteen—he could not stand to see that helpless face, let alone those eyes. He had stood and left without a word.

John had once known his little boy—from the scars on his elbows to the smell of his hair to the feel of his hand in his own. But that day, the day his son came out to them, he had abandoned him, and now he didn't know him.

He realized after a moment that the hair beneath his hand did not all feel right either; warm, yes, but sticky too. He pulled his hand away and stared in mute horror over Blaine's shoulder at his blood-soaked palm. He slackened his hold, pushing Blaine just far enough from him that he could tip his head down and study the gash in his hair.

Blaine's arms fell limp at his sides, blood already marring his clean palm (and probably the back of John's shirt too, but that could be worried about later). He retrieved a fresh towel and arranged Blaine like a marionette—clamping the cloth in his right hand and pressing it to the newfound injury. "I'm going to go get the medical kit from upstairs."

Blaine didn't respond; didn't indicate he had even heard him. John let go of Blaine's shoulders, when he turned and saw his guests he was momentarily startled; he'd forgotten their presence.

Burt's face was grim and his arm was secured around Kurt's shoulders—an easy enough gesture for him to pull off with his own son, it appeared—Kurt was crying; his eyes set on Blaine.

John swallowed hard, smoothing his collar out of habit, "Kurt, could you stay with him while I—we—go upstairs?"

Kurt seemed to have been waiting for just such a cue; he stumbled across the kitchen and folded Blaine into his arms. He gave into Blaine's shaky knees immediately; they sank to the kitchen floor, Blaine's train of apologies and tears renewed entirely in the asylum of his lover's embrace.

John remained where he was; momentarily mesmerized. Kurt knew the spot Blaine's head fit on his shoulder, the way to take over the cloth pressed to the back of his head; loosen the tie around his neck before running the fingernails of his other hand up and down Blaine's forearm slowly, rhythmically. He knew the words to whisper in his ear so that within moments he was able to quiet the boy in his arms until he was shaking but silent. All of the things John should have known.

Blaine had always been a resourceful boy—eager to come up with a novel way to do everything and perpetually landing on his feet when anything obstructed his path. It made sense, really, John reasoned with himself, still watching, that when the people who were supposed to care for him had turned away, Blaine had sought out sanctuary somewhere else—the arms of this fragile looking teenager on his kitchen floor, one casted leg splayed out, but the rest of his body dedicated to sheltering the boy he loved.

"Where'd you say that med kit was?" Burt's voice, though soft, startled John. He tore his eyes from the boys on the floor to look at the other man.

"Upstairs hall closet." John murmured. He was not used to speaking timidly. The sound bothered him, so he moved toward the doorway.

"This isn't happening; it's not." Shannon had her head in her hands; she wouldn't look at Blaine. She continued moaning.

"Shannon; that's not doing anyone any good." Her husband snapped, hauling her to her feet by the crook of an elbow. "Come help get the med kit."

"I'll come with." Burt glanced at the boys on the floor. "You two okay alone for a minute?"

"We're fine." Kurt's voice was steady. He adjusted Blaine briefly in his arms, but nodded at his father to go.

Once at the top of the steps, Burt stepped around where Shannon was sitting against the wall and stood close beside John, speaking in low, rushed tones. "You need to get him to a hospital. Now."

John Anderson was not a man who was talked down to, nor ever told what to do. He eyed Burt Hummel the same way he had when the man had first sat down at his kitchen table. "I have this under control."

Burt sneered, "Your son just walked through the door covered in blood with nothing to show for himself but a bloody pocket knife. That paired with the shit I just told you should make it pretty clear—"

"That's right, my son. _My_ son. I will decide what is best for him, and I will decide how we go through this." John stood at his full height, glowering at Burt Hummel. He did not need a lecture from the Father of the Year. "We may not have the same approaches to how we deal with our sons, but I will make sure mine makes it through this."

"Make it through this like he's made it through everything else?" Burt Hummel had never been a man for refined manners and social subtleties, but even he knew his words were pushing it. He didn't care.

John held himself tall for a long moment, prepared to tear this hick of a mechanic apart. But he was right and there was no argument he could make to deny it. He deflated a little, pulling the black box from the shelf. "One step at a time."

Burt regarded him for a long moment before giving a brief jerk of his head to indicate he would comply. He turned his attention to the woman on the floor. "He needs his mother right now."

She stared up at him with vacant eyes, "No one would do that to Blaine. He's a good boy. No one would ever think to do that to—oh, God."

Burt grimaced as Shannon burst into loud tears.

"Shannon, if you can't pull yourself together do not bother coming down these stairs." John growled, already moving toward the staircase.

Burt hesitated for a moment, "I know this is… I can't think of a word big enough to describe how terrible this all is, but, I know you love your son, and, well, like I said… he needs support from anybody and everybody who loves him right now. Especially you."

Shannon remained collapsed against the hallway wall, but she quieted.

Satisfied at least with his attempt, he turned away from the woman on the floor and followed John back down the stairs in silence, his eyes trained on the flower of wrinkled, red fabric on his back.

Kurt and Blaine were at the table. Blaine sagged into Kurt's shoulder; a fresh towel wrapped around his left palm and the pocketknife—the blade now safely snapped shut—cradled in his right.

Kurt saw both of their fathers' eyes on the knife in Blaine's palm, "He wanted it."

John nodded absently, sitting down in the chair across from them. "That's fine. Let me see your hand."

Blaine offered out the one with the Swiss Army Knife; the red plastic, now wiped clean, gleamed brightly.

"No, Blaine. The other one." His father sighed.

"Sorry." Blaine mumbled, retracting his hand to his lap before extending the other one.

"It's all right." John wondered briefly if he sounded reassuring. He pulled the towel from Blaine's hold, and as soon as it was gone, a fresh line of angry crimson was flooding up again. He worked quickly—pulling out bits of gravel and glass while trying to quell the bleeding of the deeper incision across the center of his palm.

Kurt watched quietly from where he sat. He didn't mention anything about the "kitchen accident" Blaine had blamed his palm on earlier that week. It didn't matter for now.

When he had wrapped his hand, John moved behind Blaine's chair, "Lets see your head."

Blaine obediently tipped his chin down, and Kurt pulled the rag away; it was no longer doing much good anyway; the whole thing was stained red.

John flinched as he inspected the gash closer. He pulled a few bits of glass from his son's hair and inspected them closely, "What happened?"

Blaine glanced at Kurt and then back down at the table, mumbling, "Got me with a bottle."

"One hell of a bottle." Burt muttered from where he sat on the opposite side of the table.

"Like the ones you keep in the liquor cabinet." Blaine addressed his father quietly, chancing a glance over his shoulder at him.

John stared back grimly. Blaine needed stitches and probably a check for a concussion. Things that couldn't be done at home.

Blaine watched his father study him, and despite his seemingly dazed state, he caught on quickly. "I'm not going to the hospital."

"It needs stitches." His father replied evenly.

"No it doesn't; it'll be fine." Blaine let the knife drop down onto the table so he could press a hand over the injury as though putting it out of sight would make it go away.

"Blaine; you can't just leave that be; if we don't go get it stitched up—"

"I've done it before; it'll be fine!" Blaine turned his gaze to Burt, looking for someone to agree with him. "It's fine. It'll just bleed a lot, but then it'll go away on its own."

John cringed as though he'd been slapped, but then quickly regained himself. "I don't care what you did in the past, you aren't doing it anymore. I am going to take care of this—of _you_. Do you understand me, Blaine?"

Blaine was shaking his head adamantly, his voice coming out in a nausea-laced moan. "I can't go; they ask so many questions."

"I'll take care of it." John repeated firmly.

"Blaine," Kurt's voice was as soft as his touch to the other boy's shoulder.

Blaine's eyes met Kurt's and they stared at one another. A silent conversation and then an understanding passing between them until, once again, Blaine looked resigned to whatever fate the world sent him toward.

"All right?" His father tried to make Blaine look at him; tilting his head to make eye contact when Blaine stared down into his lap.

Blaine remained mute, but looked up at his father miserably.

John may not know much about Blaine, but he recognized that look. "You're not going to be in trouble, Blaine."

Blaine sighed, a sound of resignation somehow more disturbing than his incoherent sobs, "Yes, I am."

"I won't allow it, Blaine." John said resolutely; he pulled a fresh towel from the drawer and thrust it into Blaine's hand. "Go change your shirt; try not to get blood on it. I'll be waiting down here."

"I'll go with him." Kurt didn't wait for permission; he slipped out of his chair and coaxed Blaine from his before both boys disappeared up the stairs.

John watched the empty stairwell. Blaine had been walking all right—maybe a little uncoordinated, but he wasn't limping. If what Burt Hummel had told him about his son was true, wasn't he supposed to have a limp or something? That was how they portrayed it in movies…. John shook his head; he didn't want to think about that. He preoccupied himself dropping bloodied rags into the bottom of the sink.

Burt slowly rose from the table, watching Blaine's father. He folded his arms across his chest, "You should probably change your shirt, too."

John paused in his activity, one hand suspended over the sink. He stared blankly at the other man.

"Back of your shirt's pretty messed up." Burt shrugged.

John nodded vacantly, dropping the rag and moving toward the stairs. When he reached his closet, he glanced at his wife where she stood on a chair, pulling boxes from the top shelves and dropping them to the ground. He didn't question her; he was too intrigued by the way his fingers did not shake. The ease with which he discarded the bloodied shirt to the wastebasket; the near serenity of selecting a new one and pulling it on and checking the collar in the mirror before leaving his wife alone to her endeavors and going back down the steps. He smoothed his hair as he reached the landing and took inventory of his son.

Blaine held one hand over the back of his head to avoid dirtying his fresh shirt; he was leaned against the wall of the entryway, his shoulder touching Burt's as they both watched Kurt adjusting a strap on his boot.

When Blaine's attention moved to him, John straightened up even taller, "All right. Lets go."

Blaine gave his father one last pitiful look, but there was no fight behind it. He shuffled toward the door silently, John close behind.

John turned his attention to Burt and Kurt when the group had reached the driveway. The rain had stopped, but the air was hot and muggy, threatening a second storm. "I… thank you for all you've done. I can take it from here."

"I want him to stay." Blaine blurted, moving closer to Kurt.

"Get in the car, Blaine." John instructed evenly.

Blaine didn't move; he looked pleadingly at his father. "Please?"

John flinched. Was he supposed to deny his son the single comfort he requested?

"Blaine," Kurt reached out and pressed a hand against the small of his back. "I'll come back right away in the morning. I promise."

Blaine didn't look convinced. The boys studied one another in silence.

Ignoring the presence of their fathers, Kurt moved his hand to Blaine's face, "Everything's going to be okay now. Trust me."

Blaine closed his eyes and pressed his hand over the top of Kurt's. He remained that way for a long moment before nodding his head and opening his eyes again.

Kurt didn't risk a kiss. Instead, he squeezed both of Blaine's hands between his own. He didn't mind when Blaine didn't return his smile. "I'll be back first thing tomorrow morning."

Blaine nodded again before turning and climbing into the passenger side of his father's car. He stared out at the trio still outside from the open door.

"I'll call before I get here." Kurt turned his gaze to John.

John nodded slowly, "That's fine. Will you two be all right to drive home tonight?"

"Sure," Burt's eyes moved down toward Blaine before shifting back to John, "We can talk more about this tomorrow. Worry about him for tonight."

John shut Blaine's door before moving to his own. He turned on the ignition and watched out of the corner of his eye when Kurt tapped his fingers lightly on Blaine's window, offering another reassuring smile before moving away from the vehicle. When they had pulled out of the driveway and their guests and home were fully out of sight, John glanced over at Blaine. "Put your seatbelt on."

Blaine obediently clicked it into place, but otherwise remained mute. He did not open his window to stick his arm out into the humid breeze or fiddle with the radio as he usually did until John snapped at him to roll up the glass or turn the volume down. One hand held the rag to his head, the other lay silently in his lap.

"I need to know what happened, Blaine." John finally broke the silence.

Blaine didn't indicate he had even heard him. He remained still for a while; his eyes far away. Finally he spoke, his voice quiet, "Everything fell a part."

John momentarily gripped the steering wheel harder; his stomach felt heavy and tumultuous the same way it did when he had the flu. He ignored the feeling. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened, Blaine. I can't fix this if you don't."

Out of the corner of his eye, John could perceive Blaine noticeably sag a little lower in his seat; his shoulders drooped low and weary and his face turned toward the window. "Where do you want me to start?"

His own voice sounded loud and flat in his ears. The way it did when he demanded a lower level employee explain a decision to him. "Tonight. Or the nearest things that lead up to tonight. We'll start with that."

John expected either silence or a fragmented string of remorse to once again start pouring from his son, but Blaine surprised him. His voice was dull; automatic. He started with the night of the benefit and worked his way through the moment he'd left the lot. When he finished, he didn't look at John. His eyes remained fixed on the window; far away in some other world of thought that John could not even begin to guess at. He didn't look away from the darkness outside until his father was pulling onto the side of the road. John unbuckled himself from his seat, not bothering to kill the engine before stumbling into the ditch as far from the glare of his headlights as he could get before his chest convulsed and he was vomiting into the tall, rain-soaked grass.

When he returned to the car, he found three napkins—the kind from the gas station he kept stowed in the glove compartment—sitting in his vacated seat. Blaine stared straight ahead out of the windshield. John wiped his mouth and discarded the dirtied paper in the ditch before they pulled back onto the road. They drove on in silence. When they reached the hospital, John cleared his throat. "The nurse is going to ask what happened, so—"

"I know what to say." Blaine climbed from the car, leaving his father to scramble after him toward the doors of the ER. When they entered into the room of stark fluorescent light, Blaine finally paused. His gaze shifted between the waiting room occupants before he moved toward the nurse's station.

A heavyset woman in grey scrubs sat behind a wall of glass. She glanced up at Blaine, her eyes studying the cuts on his face for a moment before she met his eyes dully, "Yes?"

"My name's Blaine Anderson; I slipped and fell off a retaining wall in our backyard. I think I need stitches." He turned and pulled the rag from the back of his head to show her.

The nurse shoved a clipboard through the slot in the bottom of the glass, "Sit down and fill this out; someone will see you as soon as they can."

"Thank you." Blaine took the offered paperwork and moved to a vacant blue plastic chair a few seats away from a woman with a sleeping child in her arms.

John sat down silently beside him and watched his son as he balanced the clipboard on his knees and penned in all the necessary information. John knew Blaine had done it before; he had made him fill out the forms himself when he had brought him in for broken ribs, "Do you need help with anything?"

"Got it." Blaine replied, one hand still holding the washcloth to his head.

When he finished, John plucked the board from his lap. "Just stay here; I'll give these back to the nurse."

Blaine didn't argue; he watched the clock behind the cage of metal on the wall.

John shoved the board back under the glass, "How long is the wait? He hit his head pretty hard and—"

"It shouldn't be long. We'll call you up when someone can see you." The nurse didn't look up as she pulled the forms from the board and tucked them into a manila folder.

With little else to do, John moved back to his chair beside Blaine. He studied his profile, but Blaine wouldn't look at him; his gaze remained focused on the clock. John watched it too, but then wasn't sure why they were fixating upon it. He glanced between the metal caging on the wall and the side of his son's face; hoping to unlock some mystery of what they were supposed to see up there in the slow movements of the heavy black hands.

Blaine must have seen his confusion out of the corner of his eye; his gaze didn't shift, but he spoke. He sounded tired, "It's all just a matter of time."

John was not entirely sure what Blaine meant, but he felt a fresh wave of nausea burn his chest for a moment, "Blaine, I—"

"Please don't." Blaine cut him off quietly. His gaze still fixed upward.

John closed his mouth, but he still felt he should say something; do something. He shifted just a little closer so their shoulders touched.

Blaine shifted away without a word.

John accepted the rejection silently. Their fellow waiting room occupants appeared and disappeared in slow waves. The woman with the baby was called back, and a new woman with yellow-tinted skin filled her seat. A man cradling his arm came in the front door and caused a fuss at the front desk before dropping down in a seat adjacent to them. Another woman with a child was called to follow a nurse in navy scrubs behind the swinging double doors. Someone vomited on the floor a few rows behind them; the sour, acrid smell was quickly replaced with the scent of disinfectant by a janitor that materialized from behind another door. John watched them all with muted disgust and unease. Blaine's eyes never left the clock. The hands worked their way around the face, and John slouched back in his seat, unable to scrutinize the other mangled and ailing humans in the room any longer as the wait dragged on. He turned his eyes back up to the clock and strained his ears for the sound of their last name to be called. It was all just a matter of time.

* * *

When they returned home, Blaine's head bandaged and a brown envelope with an x-ray inside hanging limply from his hand, they found Shannon had been busy while they were away.

The entire family room floor was covered in photos; some were arranged in neat rows while others were discarded in messy piles. The boxes from the closet upstairs were shoved in the corner. She sat on the couch, Tucker's head on her knees, and a photo clutched to her chest.

"Shannon," John sighed, observing the mess from Blaine's side, "what is all of this?"

She turned her gaze up to them. Her eyes swollen and red, "I was trying to find when it…you were such a happy baby, Blaine."

Blaine's eyes drifted over the chaos on the carpet. He stooped and lifted a photo to study before dropping it back down again.

"I wanted to find where it went wrong... How could I have missed it?" Shannon's eyes, too, studied the disarray—a chronology of her son's life where she was sure she would find some pivot point she had missed. Some crucial change she would find hidden in the glossy ink. She had pulled out every photograph she could find, but all that stared back at her were frozen milliseconds of choir concerts, birthday parties, and past holidays. She turned her misty gaze back to her son and husband. "How could I not see something so incredibly horrible had happened to my—to my—"

Both men cringed when she dissolved into sobs.

Blaine took a tentative step around a cluster of pictures, "Please don't cry, Mom."

Despite his quiet plea, her sobs only worsened. She stumbled to her feet and walked straight through the photographs; bending them and sending them sliding across the carpet in a flurry around her feet. She threw her arms around Blaine and sobbed. "My baby, my poor baby—"

Blaine stood stiffly in her hold, "Mom, please, please stop crying—"

John watched the discomfort on Blaine's face; his wife's pitiful bereavement.

Shannon finally broke her vice-like hold on Blaine to stroke his face, smooth the collar of his shirt; she sniffled, "I won't let anybody ever hurt you again, I promise; never ever—"

"I know, mom." Blaine mumbled; he stood still despite the impulse to dart away from such smothering contact. He let her fuss over him, cuddle him, offer empty reassurances, but finally he was sure he would suffocate, "I'm tired; I'm just going to go to bed."

Shannon trailed after him up the stairs, still cooing reassurances and love. She sat on the edge of his bed and stroked his hair. "Do you want me to sit with you until you fall asleep?"

"No, that's okay; I'll be fine." Blaine mumbled.

"Let him sleep, Shannon." John had remained, until then, silently observing in the doorway.

She ignored her husband. "Are you sure you don't need anything, baby? Anything at all?"

"No, I'll be fine. Thanks, Mom." Blaine said wearily.

She finally moved toward his doorway; she would have remained standing there if her husband had not gently pushed her out into the hall.

"Try to get some sleep, Blaine… if you need anything you know where we are."

"Got it. Night." Blaine let out a sigh of relief when his door finally clicked shut. He lay still and listened for the creak of the seventh step.

Shannon went to the kitchen, pulling a glass down from the cupboard, "I should bring him some water… and then I can check on him and—"

"Let him be, Shannon." John rubbed his eyes.

She paused at the sink, her eyes focused down on the ruined washcloths, the cup suspended in her hand.

When she didn't respond, he let out a long breath, "We're going to have to find out what happened to Oliver Marlow's boy."

"I hope he chokes on his own blood." Shannon responded, her voice icy. She finally moved to fill the cup.

"Don't think like that. That could mean bad things for Blaine." John replied grimly.

"That boy living and breathing is bad for Blaine. And it means bad things for Eric, too. I'll finish him off myself." Shannon turned off the tap.

"Shannon." John said; his voice a flat warning. "None of that. Blaine doesn't need to be hearing those kinds of things either."

She pivoted around on her heal abruptly. She moved so quickly John barely avoided the glass that came flying toward his head. It shattered against the wall behind him, shards of glass and rivulets of water ricocheted off the drywall and made their way to the floor like shrapnel.

"Jesus, Shannon!" He hissed.

She glowered at him, "Don't you dare tell me what he needs! Don't you fucking dare!"

"Keep it down." John glanced toward the stairs; "You'll wake him up."

"I will not quiet down!" She pointed an accusing finger at him; fresh tears left muddy tracks down her cheeks. "You do not get to pretend like you love him! You are the reason he kept this from us! Because he could never be fucking good enough for you!"

"That's enough, Shannon." Despite his warnings, John heard his own voice grow louder.

"I am through listening to you! I should have left you!" She glowered at him through her tears. "The second he came out to us, you stopped loving him. Loving _us_. I should have taken him then and left and then none of this would have ever happened!"

John spoke through gritted teeth, "It _did_ happen, Shannon. Whether you fucking wanted it to or not, it did. We can't just keep wishing it were different. Crying and pulling out his baby pictures won't change that. You are guilty in this too."

"I hate you, John Anderson; I hate you!" She screamed, closing her eyes tight against the sound of her own voice. "I may have not caught this, but you are the reason he hid it at all!"

"You think I don't know that?" He finally screamed back, wishing he could expel the twisting guilt out of his abdomen with the volume of his voice. "Do you think for one fucking second I haven't been thinking that since he walked through the door?"

Blaine listened to the distorted sound of angry voices. His parents did not fight. Not the traditional way anyway—they preferred to silently exchange a look of discontent; John would immerse himself even more heavily in his work for a few days and Shannon would have a few extra glasses of wine at night and listen to Edith Piaf. There had been only one other screaming match in Blaine's memory and it had also involved him. Two months after he had come out to them, similar threats of packing him up and moving in with his grandparents had been thrown at his father if he did not try to at least take an interest in Blaine. They had started working on the car three days later. Blaine slipped from his bed, holding up a hand to indicate Tucker should stay. He slipped out the door to the top step and sat silently, listening to the war downstairs.

John collapsed into a kitchen chair. He covered his face with his hands, "I did not stop loving him, Shannon."

She continued to glare at him from across the kitchen. She let out a sound of disgust.

He lifted his face from his hands to look at her. "I didn't. He's my son, how could I—it's just, he didn't turn out—"

"The way you expected?" She glowered even more fiercely.

He nodded his head slowly, "He loved baseball and he was always with that Fisher girl and…I saw something else for him."

"Do you think I imagined for one second he would be gay?" Shannon snapped, "Do you think I was _happy_ when he would come home with a bloody nose because the other boys beat him up? Do you think I was thrilled to find out I would never have grandchildren? You did not even try to love him, John, you have never been anything but hard on him."

"I didn't know how..." John said meekly. "I didn't— I wanted everything for him. The very best the world could give him. Life is hard enough; he didn't need this thrown into the mess. Is that so wrong to think? To be disappointed life wasn't going to be fair to him? I was hard on him because the _world_ is not going to be easy on him."

"His father could have been easy on him. He could have had _someone_ give him the benefit of the doubt."

John snatched the envelope from the hospital off of the table and nearly tore it pulling the glossy image out. He thrust a finger at a thin, opaque, dark line amidst the neat glowing blue ellipse. "Do you see that? They cracked his fucking skull once and neither one of us knew a damn thing about it. If you were such a fucking perfect parent, then why did neither one of us know about that? It was on his forehead! Neither one of us is blind, Shannon, so explain _that_ to me."

Her tears came faster again, "he told me he was trying to pull your toolbox down and—"

"Oh, _please_, Shannon; what the hell would he want that thing for in the first place?" John glowered. "Did you even bother to ask him?"

She sobbed and didn't respond. Rain had begun to pelt the windows around them, the storm outside renewing its energy with loud howls of wind. John shouted louder; his own storm whirling in his fingertips, his chest, his head; driving him half mad.

"You remember it as well as I do. No fucking toolbox did that. We did not miss this because he's so good at hiding it. We missed it because we decided to. I did not do this alone." John stood and thrust the image toward her again. The evidence she had searched for in the living room staring her in the face in shades of black and ethereal blue and white.

She covered her eyes with her hands and sobbed.

John had thought he would feel better sharing his guilt with someone else, but watching his wife break beneath her own contrition, he only felt worse. He lowered the image and stared down at the floor. He let a long breath out his nose. "Shannon, I didn't—"

"Y-you're right." Shannon sniffled, trying to use the base of a palm to wipe the tears from her face. "I didn't want to believe that anyone would ever think to be cruel to him—but it's even worse. It's so much worse."

John sighed; he dropped the image down on the table. He wrapped one arm around his wife's shoulders. She collapsed into his chest, sobbing, "what have we done, John, what've we done?"

John remained silent for a long moment, "We'll make some calls in the morning and get this all straightened out."

"What about Blaine?" She sniffled.

"I'll figure that out, too… in the morning. We'll deal with it all in the morning." He guided her toward the stairs, leaving the glass and scattered photographs to be dealt with some other time.

"Blaine." Shannon startled beneath her husband's arm when they reached the steps.

Blaine stared down at them; his head leaned against the wall beneath the railing. His eyes moved between them, silently calculating where they all stood.

John shifted uncomfortably beneath the gaze. When he met his son's eyes, he felt like it was his own eyes staring back at him, judging the contents of his head, the black marks on his record.

"Can't you sleep, Honey?" Shannon remained beside John, feeling equally meek at the base of the stairwell beneath her son's silent gaze. She tried to wipe any remainder of smeared make up from her face.

The doorbell rang; causing John and Shannon to both jump. Blaine's eyes drifted to the door as though he had expected the sound all along. He met his father's eyes when the bell rang again.

John felt powerless beneath that gaze. Even when a series of rapid knocks sounded at the door, his eyes remained transfixed on his son. He felt a thrill go up his spine that settled as a buzzing rush of adrenaline at the nape of his neck.

Blaine lifted his head from the wall, but remained seated where he was. He looked toward the door for a brief moment before looking back at John again. His voice was quiet. "I told you. Just a matter of time."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked; I'll try to pull together 26 in a timely fashion. Thanks for reading and reviewing and being such patient, wonderful, awesome, cool, encouraging, spectacular people :) **


	27. Chapter 26

**A/N: Woohoo, I felt bad about the last big wait so I put in a few heavy writing sessions and got another chapter done! I also had every intention of getting this one a little cheerier...didn't happen, sorry kids :( we'll get there though...eventually... thank you as always for the kind words in your reviews! I truly believe i have the absolute best readers on this whole site haha seriously, you guys are amazing :). There's not a lot to say about this chapter... its a bit shorter than the past few, its never easy to follow up (what i view as) some of the bigger pivot point chapters (like 8 pt.2, 18/19, and now 25); they seem like such big moments so that the chapter that has to come after it always feels like it has a lot to live up to or a lot of aftermath to try and contend with so i hope i did a decent job for you guys. love you all and hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

**Chapter 26**

"You need to eat something, Blaine." John took a long drink from his coffee cup. "Cereal or toast or something; I don't care what it is."

"Not hungry." Blaine replied, resting his chin on one arm.

John exchanged a look with Shannon and shrugged.

When the doorbell rang, nobody startled. Shannon got up from the kitchen table and went out to the entry, Tucker was already barking at the door. She hushed him while she tried to grapple with the lock.

John glanced over at his son across the table. He was busily fraying the bottom of the newspaper only inches from his face on the tabletop; tearing little incisions along the bottom, working his way from corner to corner. His eyes were tired and he turned his cheek into the crook of his arm, keeping his attention entirely dedicated to his project.

"Good morning," Kurt was in the doorway, a bag hanging from the grip on his crutch. He smiled brightly for them.

John nodded a hello, but his attention remained on Blaine who had immediately perked up, forsaking his newspaper project for the time being.

"Hey, you." Kurt took the seat beside Blaine, abandoning his crutch and bag on the ground. He rubbed a thumb across the bandage on the other boy's head and smiled. "You look like one of those POWs in old war movies."

Blaine smiled, it was a half-hearted gesture, but the first smile John had seen grace his face, "Yeah?"

Kurt nodded, "Absolutely. How was the hospital?"

"Fine." Blaine shrugged.

Burt Hummel came through the door followed by Shannon, "Morning, John; Blaine."

"Can I get you some coffee, Burt?" Shannon moved toward the machine.

"That'd be great; thanks." Burt took the end seat at the table and looked over the others at the table. "You guys look like you had a rough night."

"Neighbor scared us half to death coming over last night to say her tree had come down on our shed out back." Shannon sighed, putting a steaming mug down in front of Burt. "We were sure it would be—"

Burt caught her furtive glance toward her son. He nodded and took a long drink from his cup.

Kurt glanced at Blaine. He'd lowered his chin back to his arm on the table and renewed his initial project of mangling the bottom of the science section. "That little art project you have goings is lovely and all Blaine, but I brought something better for you to work on."

Blaine's eyes drifted up to Kurt questioningly when he pushed the paper out from beneath his hands to the other side of the table.

Kurt leaned over and retrieved his crutch and the bag. He shook the plastic in front of Blaine, trying to tantalize him into sitting up. "It's for your room."

"What is it?" Kurt's plan had worked; Blaine sat up and tried to peer down into the plastic.

"Come on and I'll show you." Kurt got to his feet and shoved his chair in.

Blaine followed after him compliantly toward the door.

Kurt paused to look at the adults, "Do you mind if we go upstairs?"

"Not at all, dear; let us know if you need anything." Shannon smiled from her seat.

The boys disappeared up the steps, Kurt chattering at Blaine the whole way.

Burt waited until he was sure they were upstairs to speak. "Have you heard anything?"

John shook his head, "Nothing. I have to make a few phone calls to settle some things, but otherwise we just have to wait."

Burt sat back in his chair, perturbed, "What happens if you never hear anything?"

"We'll hear something, it's just a matter of—" he couldn't bring himself to say those words. Not after the way his son had looked at him the previous night; completely resigned to fate, ready to be knocked down once again by the inequity of life.

"So you're not going to report this?" Burt took another drink from his mug, watching John over the rim of his cup.

"Would you?" John retorted, "Would you rat out your son in if he'd done something like this?"

"They can't possibly punish him for this." Burt frowned, "After what they did to him—"

"It's amazing what a good lawyer can make happen." John glanced over at his wife. She was cradling her own coffee cup against her chest between both hands.

"But that Marlow kid, he'll have to do jail time." Burt was adamant, "After what he did to both of our boys. They can't just let him walk."

"If Eric Marlow is alive and they do manage to pin something on him, Blaine will go down with him. Someone will make sure of it." John touched a steadying hand to his wife's knee when she shuddered beside him.

"They couldn't possibly—" Burt shook his head and put down his coffee cup, suddenly feeling ill, "You have a good lawyer, too, right? And how could anyone take one look at that kid knowing what he went through and sentence him to anything?"

"So say we get lucky and they don't," John glanced toward the steps to ensure the boys were still out of earshot, "Blaine walks but everyone he knows sees his picture in the paper or they see him on the news; they'll get to hear everything that happened and from then on, that's how they'll see him—that part of his life will define how he is perceived by his entire world. I will not put him through that. I want him free of this, not shackled to it for the rest of his life."

Burt reevaluated John Anderson for a long moment. "I'd feel the same way."

"So we can trust you to keep quiet about this?" John pressed.

"You have my word." Burt offered a hand across the table.

John shook it firmly, relieved to check one thing off the list. "If we hear anything, I'll contact you as soon as possible."

Burt nodded, slowly rising from the table, "I just wanted to check in and drop Kurt off. I'll be back for him tonight, or I can come earlier if you'd like."

"No, tonight's fine… it's good for Blaine to have him here." John cleared his throat. He walked Burt to the door before going to his office and closing the door. He had work to do.

* * *

"Are you going to tell me what's in the bag?" Blaine queried, eyeing the plastic in Kurt's lap when he sat down at the end of Blaine's bed.

"Guess." Kurt suggested.

Blaine sighed as he leaned back against the headboard, "I have no idea."

"You're no fun at all, come on, guess something." Kurt shook the bag again for good measure.

"Sheets." Blaine offered lamely.

"There could be anything in the entire world in here—a lava lamp, a magic carpet; a whale!" Kurt threw his arms in the air for affect, cringing a little when it made a spot in his shoulder ache, "And you guess sheets? Be creative and think outside the box a little, Blaine; you're good at that."

"A whale would not fit in that bag." Blaine replied mildly.

"You are selling this thing short; I am telling you that I, Kurt Hummel, am capable of anything and everything so I could easily have put a whale in here. A whole heard of whales even." Kurt slipped his fingers through his hair, smoothing its already perfect styling.

"A pod." Blaine mumbled, "a group of whales is called a pod."

"Thanks for the fun fact." Kurt prodded Blaine's foot with his knee, "Now guess."

Blaine closed his eyes, "an Olympic-sized pool."

"Better, but no." Kurt threw the bag onto Blaine's lap.

Blaine opened his eyes and pulled the contents free from the bag. He studied the plastic package in his hands. "Stars?"

Kurt bobbed his head up and down, suddenly feeling a little bashful, "you stick them up on your ceiling and they glow in the dark. I know they're tacky and meant for seven-year olds, and it says right on the package there's ninety five of them, so you can't exactly count them or anything, but—"

"I love them." Blaine interrupted, looking up at Kurt. He smiled.

Kurt couldn't respond for a moment, too moved by seeing that familiar expression back where it had once been so frequent. He regained himself quickly and smiled back, "I'm glad. Do you want to put them up?"

Blaine nodded. He tore the package open and they busied themselves climbing on furniture and plastering them across the ceiling. Kurt turned on his I-pod and sang half of the soundtrack to Rent, getting increasingly dramatic with his vocal performance; he even added choreography; anything to keep Blaine smiling.

He got a little too ambitious atop Blaine's desk chair and ended up toppling to the ground. He groaned, rubbing his back.

Blaine jumped down off the bed, kneeling beside him with a worried frown, "Are you okay?"

Kurt bit back the ache in his chest; he threw his arms into the air and finished the song.

Blaine sat back on his heels and studied him cynically.

"The show must go on." Kurt shrugged, rubbing his side.

Blaine smiled briefly before offering a hand and pulling them both to their feet. "Try a little less showiness. You're going to break your other ankle."

"An injury in the name of theater is well worth it." Kurt replied, tipping his head up to observe their handiwork.

Blaine peered into the plastic bag. "We're out of stars."

"I've got one more." Kurt held up a small, plastic cut out. He tucked it into Blaine's pocket with a wink. "Save it for a rainy day."

"Wanna look at them lit up?" Blaine moved toward the light switch.

Kurt closed the shades and settled down on Blaine's bed, "All right, lets see if these things were worth seventeen ninety-five."

Blaine flipped the switch; he paused for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark before moving to seat himself beside Kurt. He tilted his head back and studied the little shapes above them. They glowed a strange wraithlike yellow-green and left eerie silhouettes around the ceiling fan.

"They don't exactly look like real stars, do they?" Kurt sounded disappointed.

Blaine rested his head on Kurt's shoulder, "I like them."

Kurt sat perfectly still beside Blaine. He wanted terribly to turn his face into that soft, dark hair; lace his fingers between Blaine's; cuddle even closer. He could feel the warmth radiating off the body beside him and decided to take comfort in even the most minimal contact rather than risk scaring him away.

Blaine inhaled deeply; he loved the smell of Kurt so close. He had on a cologne he didn't recognize—something green and aquatic—but it still smelled familiar—cool and… just entirely Kurt. He nuzzled in closer, his side pressed to the other boy's and the back of his hand brushing Kurt's knuckles. When Kurt didn't turn his palm in against his, he felt nervous. Had he done something wrong? Kurt was relaxed, but entirely motionless at his side. "Kurt?"

"Mmm?" Kurt replied, his voice quiet.

"Are you mad?" Blaine tipped his head up, but all he could see was the silhouette of Kurt's head outlined by glowing green.

"Of course not," Kurt sounded shocked. "Why would I be?"

Blaine shrugged. "You're just not usually so… aloof."

"Oh," Kurt seemed to suddenly understand, he hesitated for a moment, "I just… you've been through a lot this week and I know you can be a little sensitive about the touch thing… I just want you to feel safe."

Blaine caught Kurt's fingers between his own and pulled his hand to his chest. He held it there between both his hands but said nothing for a long while. "Thanks for the stars."

"Anything for you." Kurt took a chance and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Blaine's head.

Tucker was barking downstairs.

"Blaine," his mother was calling up the stairs, "there's someone here to see you!"

Blaine felt a momentary rush of adrenaline, but he quickly settled himself. It wasn't the police, he was sure of that. His mother wouldn't singsong up the stairwell if it were something like that. He glanced at Kurt before turning on the lamp on his nightstand and making his way to the door, Kurt close behind him.

His mother was waiting at the base of the steps not looking particularly troubled. When he saw who was at the door, he felt a momentary sense of relief, "Hey, N."

"What'd you do to your head?" Nadia frowned at him. She looked exhausted—her hair was messy and her make up was smudged, but there was a certain energy in her face, a funny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Fell off the retaining wall out back." Blaine shrugged; he caught Kurt's quick glance.

"You can practically do parkour when you perform, but you seriously can't walk a straight line without bringing the whole world crashing on top of you, B." Nadia rolled her eyes.

Blaine shrugged, "Guess not."

"You're not leaving for California already, are you?" Kurt frowned.

"No, silly, and we'll have a nice big going away bash for me when we do that. I'm not just gonna ring the doorbell and say see ya later." Nadia made a face at Kurt, "but I did come over for a reason. I'm glad you're here to hear this, cause it involves you, too."

"Why don't you three go sit down in the kitchen; you can have something to eat." Shannon had been quietly watching them from the stairwell and she would not pass up an opportunity to try and get her son to eat something. She didn't like how pale he looked.

"Sure, thanks Mrs. Anderson." Nadia flashed a smile and moved toward the kitchen along side Blaine's mother, chattering about how long it had been since they'd seen one another.

Blaine and Kurt exchanged a look before following after them.

"Can I get you anything?" Shannon asked, glancing pointedly at Blaine.

Kurt smiled politely, "Nothing for me, thank you."

Nadia went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a Diet Coke, she smiled again for Blaine's mother, "I remember where everything is; I'm sure we'll be fine, but thank you."

"Blaine?" Shannon looked at him hopefully.

"I'm fine, Mom, I'll get something if I need it." Blaine avoided her gaze.

"If you're sure…" Shannon tried to hide her disappointment, "Call if you need anything."

Nadia watched her depart before turning her attention back to the boys, "both your parents home at one time and in the middle of a week day, B? What's the occasion?"

"Business crisis or something." Blaine shrugged.

She acceptd the excuse with a quick nod of her head. She sat her can down on the table, but she remained standing; fidgety with anticipation. "I have insane, beyond impossible, unbelievable gossip for you. Like you're not even going to believe it; it's that wild."

"Waiting." Kurt quirked an eyebrow.

"Okay, so you know that huge rager out past the dairy farms off Eden Drive last night?" She looked at the boys expectantly.

They both nodded. Even the students of McKinley had heard about the party. Some real estate agent's kid had gotten the keys to a massive barn at the edge of town.

"I take it you didn't hear what happened?" Nadia studied their faces, nearly bouncing with impatience.

They both shook their heads dumbly.

She looked between them and leaned her hands on the table, "Eric Marlow was stabbed."

Blaine didn't move; he didn't dare breathe for fear of giving himself away, "w-what?"

Nadia bobbed her head up and down excitedly, "Like a million times, I guess. Someone called and said they'd seen some kid laying in the back yard. Next thing we knew the whole place was crawling with police and they were loading Eric up into an ambulance. My friend Sasha's mom is a nurse at the hospital and she said he had like an ounce of blow on him so they think it was like, a drug fight thing or something, but seriously, can you believe it? That bastard finally got what he deserved!"

Blaine tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. "Is he… did he live?"

Nadia shrugged, "He was alive when they brought him in but who knows. Who the fuck cares? Actually, scratch that, I want him to live. Let the bastard suffer."

Kurt glanced back at Blaine. He looked like he might faint. "Do they have any idea who might have done it?"

Nadia shook her head, "No idea, but if I ever find him I'm buying him a drink. No, I'll buy him a drink and then I'll effing sleep with him. Seriously, drug dealer or junkie or whatever, I don't even care."

Blaine didn't smile. He slumped back in his chair with his eyes closed.

"Hey, come on, B. This is great, why do you look ready to puke?" Nadia finally sat down across from them. She turned her attention to Kurt, "K, tell him this is great."

"Blaine, this is a good thing." Kurt said softly. He reached out and touched a tentative hand to Blaine's shoulder. When he felt Blaine tense he let it fall back to the tabletop. "He might even do time for the cocaine thing."

"No he won't." Blaine murmured, he opened his eyes, but he didn't look at either one of them.

Nadia frowned at Kurt and then at Blaine, "What's eating at you, Honey Bee? You look absolutely horrible. I thought this would cheer you up."

Blaine shook his head before resting his chin in his hands, "Nothing, just in shock I guess… Thanks for coming by to let us know."

Nadia didn't look convinced, but she nodded slowly, "of course; I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to tell you in person—I'm actually on my way to practice; you guys can come watch if you want— it'll be a bunch of hot, flexible girls in spandex dancing around and getting sweaty."

Kurt smiled feebly for her, "You really know how to cater to your audience, but, as tempting as that is, I think we'll pass."

"All right, well, I should get going, you sure you're alright, B?" Nadia reached out a hand to touch his arm.

Blaine allowed the touch for a moment before dropping his elbows from the table, "Yeah. Let me know if you hear anything else."

"Sure thing." Nadia got up and went to the fridge. She pulled out a second can and displayed it for Blaine with a pleading smile, "Mind if I steal one of these for the road?"

"Be my guest." Blaine waved a dismissive hand at her; his eyes distracted.

"You're the best, B." She tucked it in her purse before running back to them. She touched her mouth to Kurt's quickly, but Blaine turned his face away when she leaned in for a kiss.

"He's been sick." Kurt supplied quickly.

Nadia studied Blaine's profile for a moment, "I don't know what you're so worried about, B, but try to cheer up. I'm going to Cali, you've got a gorgeous boyfriend, and Eric Marlow is pissing through a catheter somewhere in the ICU—the world is finally giving us the other side of karma."

Blaine's eyes drifted to her face; he let out a long breath, "I hope you're right."

"Of course I am. I'll see you later." She touched her lips lightly to his cheek, rubbed off the lip gloss she left there with a thumb, and then was gone from the kitchen, shouting goodbyes to the Andersons and Tucker as she slammed the front door behind her.

Kurt sat in silence beside Blaine. When it was clear Blaine had no intention of saying anything, Kurt finally spoke, "We should tell your parents."

Blaine didn't move for a moment, but then nodded his head slowly.

"I'll do the talking, even," Kurt offered gently when Blaine remained frozen in his chair, "you can just sit there and look pretty."

Blaine didn't laugh, but he did manage to get out of his chair and shuffle after Kurt toward his father's office.

Kurt ignored his sudden nerves just as he had every other time he had had to address John Anderson, and pushed the door open lightly, "Um, Mr. Anderson?"

John looked up from the papers he was scribbling on, "everything all right?"

"Yeah, um, but we need to talk to you. It's about Eric." Kurt sat down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of John's desk where Blaine was already seated. Once Shannon had been called in as well, Kurt relayed Nadia's story for them as best he could.

John tented his fingers in front of his mouth, thinking. He glanced at Blaine. His son was slumped low in his chair, staring vacantly at the framed degrees on the wall behind John's head. "Did she mention anything about seeing the other boy who was with you two nights ago?"

Blaine shook his head.

"Good… that's good." John picked up his phone. "Is that all?"

"That's all." Kurt replied, "What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about it; just… go make yourselves busy." John waved a hand at the boys, "we'll take care of it."

Kurt was a little worried he would have to drag Blaine out of his seat, but his fear was without warrant. Blaine rose quickly, apparently eager to get out of the office, and followed Kurt out of the office and back up the stairs.

Blaine sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, his elbows rested on his knees.

Kurt remained standing, studying Blaine's defeated posture. "Blaine, I know this is a mess and I know you're upset, but this Eric situation could be a good thing."

Blaine didn't say anything; he lifted one hand and picked at the tape on the gauze around his forehead.

"Don't mess with that." Kurt reprimanded softly.

"I want it off." Blaine snapped, still plucking at the tape.

"Blaine, you just got those stitches yesterday, I don't think—"

"I want it off, I want it fucking off right now," Blaine lifted both hands, sounding almost panicky in his attempts to loosen the bandages.

Kurt closed the small space between them and batted Blaine's fingers away. He easily peeled the tape free and unraveled the dressing, "There; it's off. Feel better?"

Blaine ran a shaky hand through his hair, "No."

"There's something you're not saying, Blaine," Kurt sighed, "Talk to me; what's wrong?"

"I want this to be over," Blaine dropped his face into his hands, his voice quiet, "I wish I could just make it go away."

"Blaine." Kurt's own voice trembled; he took a step closer to the other boy, unsure of what else he could do or say.

"I don't want to do this anymore." Blaine leaned his head into Kurt, his forehead hot against the base of his sternum even through the fabric of his shirt.

"I know." Kurt touched a hand to the top of Blaine's head, hoping the contact could offer some comfort his words couldn't.

"I'm so tired, Kurt," Blaine tipped his head to look up at Kurt; his eyes shone with unshed tears, "I'm just so fucking tired."

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt felt hot saline stinging his own eyes. He sat down on the bed beside Blaine, allowing the other boy to bury his face against his neck when the tears wouldn't remain in check any longer. He wrapped one arm around his shoulders, pressing his palm into the side of his face, and held tightly to Blaine's hand with his other.

"Why is this happening?" Blaine sobbed, "Why did any of this ever have to happen?"

Kurt closed his eyes tightly when he could no longer hold back his own tears. He had come over that morning hoping things could be different, imagining that if he tried hard enough to pretend things were the way they had been in the beginning they could force fate to be kind to them from then on. He turned his cheek down into Blaine's hair. "I don't know."

Blaine's tears subsided, but he shivered against Kurt's shoulder, "I never meant for any of this to get so out of control."

"None of this is your fault, Blaine," Kurt scooted just far enough away to get Blaine to look at him, he stroked his face gently, wiping away the wet tracks on his cheeks, "I know you're tired, and I know you're scared, but you sell yourself short. You were brave, Blaine. Just this once, you fought for yourself."

"And look where that got us." Blaine said bitterly.

"I am looking, Blaine." Kurt turned the other boy's face back toward him when he looked down at his feet. "It's _you_ who isn't seeing it. Your parents are actually looking at you, the world is finally going to see Eric Marlow for the parasitic rat he is, and we're going to be better for it all. It just has to get worse before it can get better."

"How can this ever get better?" Blaine's voice wavered, "My parents can barely look at me, you can barely touch me, and I don't even know what's going on inside my own head. Nadia's right, I dropped the act and I brought the whole world crashing down on top of all of us."

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt sighed, "Do you know why you're so tired?"

Blaine stared at him sadly and shook his head.

"You are so confident in the capabilities of everyone else in your life that you take everything you see as wrong in the world and twist it until the only one at any fault is yourself." Kurt smiled sadly at him. "The last guy who did that got himself nailed to a cross, Blaine, and even he took some help carrying the damn thing."

"You're an atheist." Blaine mumbled.

"That doesn't mean I can't see the person I love putting on a crown of thorns when he doesn't deserve it." Kurt said quietly.

Blaine looked away and remained silent.

Kurt shifted himself further back on the bed and pulled at Blaine to lie beside him. When Blaine finally rested his head on his chest, Kurt rubbed circles in the tense muscles of his back, "Why don't you try and get some sleep."

"I can't." Blaine said quietly.

"You have people to help you with this now, Blaine; it's okay to let yourself rest every once in awhile." Kurt reached over Blaine and turned off the light. "Pretend… pretend it's the night we buried Pavarotti. We reclined the seats all the way back in your car and stared out the sunroof. You told me about when you took care of Pavarotti when you first got to Dalton, and I told you about my mother's dresser and then we just laid out there for hours. I got my cell phone taken away for a week for getting home so late. Do you remember?"

Blaine nodded slightly against Kurt's chest, "You sang Let It Be."

"That's right." Kurt murmured, running his fingertips lightly up and down Blaine's arm.

"Can you sing it now?" Blaine whispered.

Kurt tipped his head back and stared up at the artificial glow above their heads and pretended they were real. He remembered the smell of leather interior and Blaine's cologne. The feel of cold fingers laced with his own between the seats, the sound of his heart in his ears, rhythmically singing it's own song in his head apart from the one leaving his lips: _he's mine, he's mine, he's mine._ He closed his eyes and held on tightly to the memory.

"_And when the night is cloudy, _

_There is still a light that shines on me_

_Shine until tomorrow_

_Let it be"_


	28. Chapter 27

**A/N: so chapter 27 was literally in my doc manager and about to be uploaded like two days ago and then, as I was reading through it one more time, I changed my mind, deleted the entire thing, and rewrote what you're seeing now haha. the original just didn't feel right, and even though it killed me a little to delete thirteen pages of writing, this second attempt felt a lot more natural for blaine than the original did. ummm... some big things to be discussed: 1) before writing 27, i sat myself down and did a little evaluation of my timeline for this story and realized, after almost 300 pages of story (crazy, right?) we are drawing very, very near the end ...as in there might only be one more chapter following this (possibly 2?), 2) if you're as sad as i am for this story to be coming to a close, have no fear, my little head has been busybusybusy thinking and there are currently three potential things in the works once i wrap up counting stars: a) a potential sequel, Naming Constellations, has been tugging at the corners of my mind for a week or so now, but I haven't decided if I want to do it or not... b) another (unrelated to counting stars) blaine/kurt angsty plotline has busily been forming in my mind for a few weeks now and c) a much less angsty future fic has also been tickling the back of my mind for awhile as well... decisions, decisions; any thoughts on what would possibly ignite a little interest in all of you lovelies? gah, this a/n is practically a chapter in it of itself with how long it is; sorry :/. Enjoy 27!**

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**Chapter 27**

"What are you doing, Blaine?" Shannon looked up in surprise when her son entered the kitchen. He was dressed in his Dalton uniform; his hair carefully styled and his shoes tapping across the floor quickly as he made for the coffee pot.

"Going to work." He replied coolly, rummaging through a cupboard for a clean cup.

"You most certainly are not." She got to her feet and pulled the mug free from his hand.

"I can't skip again." Blaine gave up on the coffee pot and slipped around his mother to search out his keys, "_dad_ went to work today."

"Your father did not go through what you did. Besides, we already called Dalton and told them we were dealing with a family crisis. You're off for the rest of the week."

Blaine sighed, "I want to go to work, Mom. I can't stay in the house and just keep thinking about all of this."

"Come here and sit down with me." Shannon reached out a hand to coax her son toward the table, but then thought better of it. She had taken note of the way he shied away from the touches he had not instigated for himself. Even Kurt had not been immune to Blaine suddenly jumping beneath an innocent hand on his shoulder.

Blaine sat but fidgeted with a forgotten napkin; twisting it and folding it between his hands. He glanced at the clock impatiently.

"What do you want for breakfast?" She gently pulled the napkin from between his hands as she moved toward the cupboard.

"Mom." Blaine groaned.

"Blaine." She retorted flatly. "I don't know why you're so hell bent on not eating, but it's not an option. You might as well pick something or else I'll just choose for you."

Blaine had figured out that toast would always be two slices accompanied by so much peanut butter he could barely swallow, fruit would lead to a second round of pestering to eat something else, and ignoring her lead to pancakes. "Oatmeal."

She nodded her approval and pulled out the box. She held it in front of him with a smile, "which flavor?"

"You pick." Blaine sat back in his chair and chewed at a fingernail, his eyes distant.

Shannon tried to bite back a sigh as she pulled down a bowl. She had done her online research on what she was supposed to do—don't push him, offer love and support; listen without judgment. She had read about the symptoms, too, and though they made sense in neat little bullet points on her computer screen, the reality was so much harsher.

"How did you sleep last night?" She didn't look at him as she punched the time into the microwave, but she kept her voice cheery, "Was that you or was it Tucker I heard up around three?"

"Me." Blaine said quietly. "Just came down for a glass of water."

_1. Insomnia: the victim may have trouble with sleep, or, upon sleeping may experience nightmares regarding their experiences._

Shannon turned to study her son while she waited for the timer to go off. He was toying with something in his hand, his eyes still far off in some other world.

"Did you have any bad dreams?" She ventured.

He shrugged, "None I remember."

"That's good," She lapsed into silence, the hum of the microwave and Tucker's nails on the wood floor filled the space between her and her child.

_2. Sudden changes in personality or mood swings are common; it is important to continue to offer support and love and know it is not you that the victim is reacting to but rather her experiences._

Her. Every single site had discussed she, the woman, the girl, _her_. The best she could find about anything regarding boys going through such an experience were a few statistics and three lines insisting males could be victims, too, in sidebar links titled 'Common Rape Myths Unraveled'.

When she was pregnant, she could not resist nodding her head up and down excitedly when the doctor has asked if she wanted to know the gender. She needed to know—had to dream of the baby girl whose hair she would tie up in ribbons or the little boy whose Hot Wheels and Brio trains would litter the family room floor; she had to paint the walls of the empty nursery at home so she could sit in the newly purchased rocking chair surrounded by blue or pink and dream of names for her sweet baby. Her aunts and sisters who already had children would croon to her about how wonderful it was to have a little girl to relate to, but baby boys… there was just something _special_ about baby boys. And they had been right. Blaine had been so special; banging pots and pans contentedly while she cooked, busily pushing tractors and Tonka trucks down the driveway on warm nights, his pockets constantly needing to be emptied of dirt or bugs or the occasional frog he had discovered in the backyard. There had been the few anomalies, of course, little red flags leading up to the day he sat her and her husband down at the kitchen table so many years later. The momentary pause and look of longing as they passed the pink-tinted aisle of Barbies, the preference to re-watch the Little Mermaid over his Power Rangers movie time and time again…but Shannon hadn't minded. Gay, yes, but still her son; still her baby.

"Mom, you want me to get that?" The sound of Blaine's voice roused her from her thoughts.

"Hmm?" She suddenly realized the timer was going off; loud automated beeps pierced the air of the kitchen, "Oh!"

She pulled the bowl out of the microwave, nearly scalding her fingers on its edge. She had planned on adding apples or brown sugar or some sort of extra to try and trick Blaine into eating something more so the anxiety she felt when they went through this power struggle again at lunchtime wouldn't be so high, but she thought better of it. She poured a glass of milk and put both things down in front of her son.

"Thanks." Blaine mumbled, twirling his spoon slowly in the bowl.

She sat down across from him and tried not to stare. He didn't like that. "Do you remember the G.I. Joe I gave you when you were seven?"

Blaine looked momentarily surprised, but then nodded.

Shannon didn't offer any further thoughts on the matter.

He studied her for a while longer before returning his attention to moving the food around in his bowl, plastering sticky globs of gray-brown to the edges until he could see the white plastic at the bottom. It slid sluggishly back down into the center, undoing his handiwork. He begrudgingly stuck his spoon in his mouth.

"Do you want to help me cut some flowers from the garden today?" Shannon watched Blaine eat as casually as she could.

Blaine swallowed hard and tried to ignore the heavy feeling of food sitting in his stomach. "It's Tuesday; don't you have book club?"

"I'm not going today," She replied. She had actually forgotten about it entirely…

"It's your week to host." Blaine glanced over at her, pausing in the rearrangement he had been trying to organize in his bowl.

Shannon let out a long sigh, "Oh God, you're right, it is. How do you remember that and I don't?"

"It's on the calendar." Blaine shrugged, he glanced down in his bowl again, "can I be done?"

Shannon was trying to figure out how she could weasel her way out of hosting the ladies that afternoon. She roused herself from her thoughts to glance at Blaine's nearly untouched bowl, "You took one bite."

Blaine lifted his glass of milk and emptied it. He quirked his eyebrows at his mother, "Now?"

The gesture seemed so familiar; so normal. She smiled despite herself and nodded. Kurt was supposed to be coming over later, she hadn't forgotten that at least, and he always seemed to have some sort of trick up his sleeve to get Blaine to be compliant. She would have to ask him to help her with her son's appetite. "Yes, fine. Go change your clothes. We'll cut a bouquet for the table for when the ladies come over I suppose."

Blaine gave her a small, grateful smile before moving to the sink to scrape his bowl clean.

She studied his back as he moved about—drying the bowl and replacing it in the cupboard, scratching Tucker behind the ears when the dog pressed his head against his thigh. It was moments like these she could watch him and pretend nothing was wrong. Her sweet, charming boy in his handsome Dalton uniform. She had taken advantage of those moments over the past week—quick instances of him checking the calendar in the laundry room, sitting idly at the piano tapping out one-handed melodies; the rare occasions he fell asleep on the couch… brief moments that were not tainted with a haunted look in his eye; milliseconds where she could forget what she knew now. He was still just Blaine; sweet, silly Blaine.

"I'll just be a minute." He turned toward her, the moment already gone, before he disappeared up the steps.

Shannon loved her garden. Loved the feeling of warm, wet earth around her hands, the sweet smell of living things she had cultivated all on her own. Blaine sat cross-legged in the grass beside her, watching quietly while she prodded some of the plants still in bloom, "I think I had something catered for today at Delaney's…"

"I can go pick it up." Blaine offered, pulling idly at some weeds along the edging of the garden.

"No, no, I can do it, Honey," Shannon used the back of her arm to wipe her forehead, and closed her eyes, trying to remember placing the order, "Yes, I definitely ordered the food...Oh! I reserved a room at the club for today; they're delivering them there... I can't believe I completely forgot about all of this."

"You've had a lot on your mind." Blaine said softly.

Shannon used all of her will power to not reach out and touch him, "Important things."

Blaine didn't look at her, his eyes moved to a fat bumble bee that was hovering among the foxglove; bending the entire stalk with its heavy body when it finally landed and climbed inside a bloom.

Shannon studied the flowers, too, and changed the subject with a tone she hoped sounded cheerful, "I can still bring a bouquet with. What do you think; the freesia or the heather…or the hydrangea?"

Blaine's eyes drifted over the flowers, "The hydrangeas."

"I thought so, too." Shannon began clipping the blooms carefully, arranging them in a neat pile at her side. Blaine tipped his head back and closed his eyes, apparently liking the sun on his face. They sat quietly like that until her pile of flowers was toppling over one another into a scattered row on the lawn. "Does Kurt like flowers?"

Blaine laid back in the grass, flinching for a moment when the back of his head touched the ground; he turned his face toward his mother, "Dunno."

"I bet he does; you should find out what his favorite is." Shannon ventured, "It's good to know that sort of thing about… about the person you love."

Blaine watched her quietly before speaking, "You don't have to do this, you know."

"Do what?" Shannon looked at him in surprise.

He remained as he was, looking up at her, "Try so hard."

She stared at him in silence. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but didn't know what to say.

He sat up, resting his weight on his palms behind him, "I know… I know me being gay was never easy for you and dad and I know all of this just makes it so much harder, but, you and dad, none of this was your fault. You don't need to keep trying to make up for things."

Shannon felt a knot forming in her throat, "Do you remember earlier this summer when we talked about how fast you grew up? Do you remember what you told me about how I missed it?"

Blaine nodded, "You blinked."

"I didn't though, Blaine, I chose to close my eyes to it all. I thought if we all just kept pretending everything was okay—if you were doing well in school, if you and your father could stay out of fights, if we just tiptoed around whatever person you might choose to love—I was sure we could make it real. I wasn't fair to you."

"You've always been good to me, Mom." Blaine touched a hand to hers gently.

She traced the top of her thumb against his palm. "Not good enough, sweetheart, but we're going to be better for it all. I promise."

Blaine didn't argue; he even let her pull her hand out from under his to touch his hair briefly.

She tucked the few stray curls under her fingers behind his ear before blinking back the sudden tears that stung her eyes, "I'm going to get these in a vase before they start to wilt. Are you coming in?"

"I'd like to stay out here for a bit."

Shannon bobbed her head up and down quickly as she gathered up her flowers, "I'll let you know when I'm leaving."

She left him alone, but as soon as she was inside, she moved to a window overlooking the backyard. He was still seated in the grass, throwing a tennis ball that Tucker bounded after jubilantly. Another moment for her to lock away with the rest. She arranged her flowers in a vase—a task she usually found soothing—but found herself getting up over and over again to look out the window and then reluctantly return to her project. When she finished, Blaine was still outside.

"Blaine, honey," she called out to him from the deck, "I'm going to go to the Club... do you want to come?"

He turned toward her for a moment and shook his head, "Would you mind if I stayed out here?"

"Of course not, dear," Shannon smiled, though she wanted desperately to keep him in her sight.

_3. Despite all the victim has gone through, it is important to allow her to still feel like an individual; do not meddle with too many of her affairs or smother her when she does not want the attention._

"Remember to listen for the door; Kurt should be here some time soon." After a few more reminders that she would only be gone a few hours and she had her cell phone if he needed anything, she finally departed.

When Tucker nudged at his ankle to toss the ball again, Blaine threw it into the wreckage of the shed. He watched while Tucker tried to search it out, digging at the splintered wood and whimpering. He lay back in the grass and pulled the plastic star from his pocket. He twirled each of its five points between his thumb and fingers; thinking. When he felt a sting forming on his cheeks and nose, he squinted up at the sun; already beating down so hot on his face that he was sure he was burning. He sat up and shaded his eyes with a hand. Tucker had found his ball and was lounging in the grass, panting. "Tuck, house."

Tucker bounded past him and waited at the top of the deck stairs to be let in. Blaine watched him sprint to the laundry room, but didn't wait for him to return. He went up to his room and lay down in his bed. The sun was too bright for the stars to emit any more than a hazy green glow, but he stared up at them anyway.

The garage door slammed and soon Tucker was barking excitedly at whoever had entered the house. Blaine sat up and listened.

"Hello?" A voice shouted from the base of the stairs. Blaine relaxed back against the headboard; he knew that voice.

"Upstairs." He called back.

Kurt appeared in the doorway a moment later, he moved straight to the window and pulled open the shades, letting sun spill into the previously artificial dusk. "It's beautiful out today."

Blaine nodded his head; "I haven't been in bed all this time, if that's what you're implying."

"Not at all." Kurt raised an eyebrow, "Your shorts are on and your bed is made. My deductive skills aren't that shabby, Mr. Anderson. Oh! I have something for you."

"Don't call me that, you call my dad Mr. Anderson." Blaine took the book Kurt was offering him, he turned it over in his hands a few times, "Did you finish it?"

"Yes, sir, but please don't try and act out the whole book; I don't know how I would feel about you cross dressing." Kurt settled into the space Blaine had created for him. Their arms touched and Blaine slid over a little further.

Blaine caught his own involuntary recoil and corrected it quickly, but he sighed, "I'm done being the impressionist."

"Any new characters in mind?" Kurt quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

"Just me for now." Blaine shrugged, putting the book down on his nightstand, "Unless you have someone in mind."

"I can think of absolutely no one better." Kurt smiled, tapping his foot lightly against Blaine's.

Blaine looked down toward their legs, "No crutch today?"

"The crutch has been retired and the boot comes off next week." Kurt replied jubilantly; he opted not to comment on the abrupt subject change.

"Already?" Blaine stared down at Kurt's leg cynically.

"You wear this thing around for a summer and then try and qualify it coming off with 'already'," Kurt rolled his eyes, "and it's been almost two months."

Blaine shook his head in disbelief, "Where did the summer go?"

"I said _almost _two months; we don't go back until after Labor Day," Kurt smiled, "We still have time."

Blaine fell silent, a frown shadowing his features. When Kurt brushed his fingers against the back of his hand, Blaine flinched, "You're thinking about Eric."

Blaine nodded slowly.

"It's been a week Blaine; I'm sure he's conscious and if he hasn't said anything by now, I'm pretty sure it will stay that way." Kurt turned his head to look at Blaine, but Blaine was staring straight ahead.

"I'm not concerned about that." Blaine replied, worrying the plastic star between his fingers once again.

Kurt caught a hold of his hand and tucked the star back into his pocket without explanation, "So what's bothering you?"

Blaine didn't like lying to Kurt. Even if it was just by omission, it felt wrong; dirty even, after all they'd been through together, "I don't know."

"Yes you do," Kurt replied quietly. He waited.

Blaine finally turned to look at him; their faces were so close he could almost taste Kurt's breath on his tongue. Strawberries and something else, "This isn't what I had pictured for this summer."

Kurt held back any sarcastic comments that this had been exactly what he had had in mind for their time off from school, "What did you imagine?"

Blaine was quiet, his eyes drifting over Kurt's face—his hair, his eyes, his mouth; the little line of freckles the sun had created across his nose, "I thought I was finally going to put all of that behind me. I actually believed—'

His eyes were still studying his face, searching for some lost memory of the days before that summer, "I actually believed, after the first day of summer, you and I were going to, at some point…"

Kurt swallowed hard, "Make love?"

"Yes." Blaine turned away.

"I wouldn't have been able to." Kurt said softly.

Blaine looked at him questioningly.

"I… I wanted to, when I came over the first day of summer, I had every intention of going through with it." Kurt felt his cheeks turn hot, but he kept talking, "but I couldn't and I didn't know why; I thought it was just because I've always been so… well, you remember my attempts at sexy."

Blaine smiled sympathetically, "You got better."

Kurt smiled, too, but he was shaking his head. "But then I realized, that wasn't the problem at all. I couldn't go through with it because… I loved you, Blaine, I've always loved you, but there was just that…that wall between us."

Blaine looked away, "We functioned a little more smoothly with it there."

"It was a lie, Blaine. It would have never been as real for you as it was for me. It would have destroyed us."

Blaine didn't say anything. He drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, "And all of this has been healthy for us?"

"Could you look at me right now and say we're not closer for it?" Kurt retorted quietly.

"Yeah, our intimacy is spectacular," Blaine motioned a hand at the space between then and let out a long breath, "Whether or not anything happens to Eric for all of this, it doesn't change where we are right now."

"I can be patient," Kurt said quietly.

Blaine closed his eyes, "Kurt, I know you love me, but, are you sure that this is what you want?"

"Am I sure what is what I want?" Kurt frowned; confused.

Blaine's eyes fluttered open again; he turned his cheek into his knees so he was facing Kurt, "Are you sure you get all of this?"

"You're going to have to be just a little more succinct, Blaine, I don't know what you're getting at."

"I know you, Kurt," Blaine sighed, he moved to sit cross-legged, facing Kurt full on, "I know how important every little detail of a relationship is to you. I try to get it right for you, I try to do things the way I think you picture them in your head… but I can't cover this thing up, I can't pretend you and I are going to get to share this big, special moment if we ever do have sex. I… I can't give you what you deserve with this one."

"Blaine," Kurt felt his voice waver, he swallowed hard to correct it, "I think it's you who is still not getting it."

Blaine stared back at him sadly.

"I want you, Blaine. Only you." Kurt took a chance and brushed a hand across Blaine's forehead.

Blaine let out a breathy, bitter laugh, but Kurt was already shaking his head.

"You're so hard on yourself," Kurt dropped his hand back into his lap, "Do you remember why I was so upset the first time you and I confronted Karofsky?"

"He stole your first kiss." Blaine had never forgotten. It had been the moment, even if he hadn't had _those_ kinds of feeling then, that he had known Kurt was special. The world was still a romantic, beautiful place for him, and Blaine had promised himself he would do his best to keep things that way for him.

"I was so sure he had ruined it for me. I was positive that, for the rest of my life, when I looked back on my first kiss, I would think of letterman jackets and the smell of old gym socks." Kurt smiled faintly, tucking his legs underneath himself neatly, "But that's not what I think of at all. Not even for a second… Do you know what I remember?"

Blaine shook his head.

"When I think of my first kiss, I remember thinking it couldn't possibly be happening, I remember my heart beating so hard I could feel it in my teeth. I remember the taste and the heat and wanting to laugh and cry at the same time simply because it was all so incredibly surreal." Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, and when they fluttered back open, he smiled, "I remember you, Blaine."

Blaine's eyes were misty, but he remained quiet.

"I know it's not anywhere near the level of what happened to you, but I really believe, when the time is right," Kurt blinked back tears that were stinging the corners of his eyes, "You'll be my first… and I'll be yours. You aren't broken or dirty or ruined, Blaine. You're perfect. You'll always be perfect to me."

Kurt nearly had to stifle a gasp when Blaine tipped his head in closer so their foreheads were touching; his eyelashes were a dark blur in Kurt's vision and his breath warm against his face. He expected a sad retort, a bitter comment about how unfixable things had become. But it never came. Blaine found Kurt's hands and held them between his own.

Before Kurt could open his mouth to stammer something out to fill the silence, one of Blaine's hands came up to his face. Kurt held perfectly still beneath the warm palm on his face, the thumb that traced the groove between his lower lip and chin, and finally, the mouth that touched his.

It was not deep and passionate like their first kiss. It was soft; quiet. Just long enough for Kurt to recognize spearmint and that familiar flavor that was nothing but Blaine. When their lips parted, they remained still, their foreheads still touching, and Blaine's breath warm on his mouth as he exhaled. Their eyes met, but with his face so close, all Kurt could see was a blur of warm hazel. He didn't wait for Blaine to speak, to murmur an I love you, or offer some sweet sentiment. Kurt didn't fill the silence either. He didn't offer words of encouragement, cooings of affection, or a note on things looking up.

Some things don't need to be said. Some things go beyond words.

* * *

**A/N: as promised, there is finally some sunshine for our sweet boys :) hope you enjoyed and remember to let me know if youd be interested in any of the thoughts in the a/n up top. 28 shouldnt take too long to get up here so keep an eye out. love you all dearly :)**


	29. Chapter 28

**A/N: So here it is: THE LAST CHAPTER :)/:( Can you even believe it? So, as of right now, Naming Constellations, however much I am attached to this version of Blaine and Kurt, I think is not going to happen... I have loved writing Counting Stars, but I think I need to leave things as they end here. For those of you that were hoping for a sequel, I'm sorry, but I promise i'll keep putting out kurt/blaine stories and hopefully you can continue to enjoy them! Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this story through all these chapters and thank you for the many reviews and kind words of praise and encouragement- you all made writing this such a pleasure. For anyone interested, since it might take a while for me to get a second chaptered story ready to go for being online, i do have a one-shot that is almost done so ill post that on here as soon as it's ready to go so keep an eye out :) again, to all of you: thank you x29489579834759723987; you're all completely amazing :). Without further ado, here is the conclusion of Counting Stars; I hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

**Chapter 28**

A breeze drifted through the open windows. John turned his face toward it, enjoying the cool air. Somehow, amidst the eighty- and ninety-degree dog days of August, they had been blessed with an unseasonably cool three days—a front of freak weather that was more than welcomed by everyone. Shannon had turned off the air conditioning and thrown open every window in the house. Sixty-five had never been such a well-loved number. But Blaine was restless. Despite the release from the oppressive humidity, he was irritable; frustrated. John remembered the tigers from Blaine's younger days when they would take trips to the zoo—pacing back and forth, back and forth in their cells. No matter how lovely the enclosure, they paced. A cage is not the same as the real thing no matter how close the approximation.

John knew his son was tired of the house, tired of the eyes that were always on him—even Kurt's presence could put him on edge. He did not complain, did not even mention his frustration, but John could see it. He knew the feeling—trapped in some spot of life he couldn't escape.

Today, John could hear him on the front porch, plucking at the strings of his guitar. He may have screwed up a lot of things as a parent, but he prided himself on the early decision to enroll Blaine in music courses—singing, piano, guitar, cello, a short lived session with percussion—Blaine had taken to them all, and even after the baseball teams and soccer leagues had died out, the music had remained. John listened from the confines of the kitchen for a long moment before moving outside. But as soon as he stepped onto the porch, Blaine stopped playing, "Too loud?"

"Not at all." John glanced at the space on the bench swing beside Blaine. He leaned on the railing instead. Blaine plucked at a few of the strings, but, a little to John's disappointment, didn't delve back into the song he was playing before.

"What were you playing earlier?" John finally broke the silence awkwardly.

Blaine shrugged, "Nothing really; just playing."

And there it was again, that air of restlessness, of thoughts that John couldn't even begin to guess at, "You keep yourself busy yesterday?"

Blaine shrugged, "Yeah."

This was the language they'd adopted; a code that allowed them to discuss some of the more awkward parts of their lives.

_Translation: Did you go to therapy yesterday?_

_Response: I went._

"Everything go all right?" John cleared his throat a little.

"Mhm." Blaine played a little series of chords.

_Translation: Did you talk? Is it helping?_

_Response: I guess so._

John straightened up and walked toward the garage. He glanced at the shelves as he passed them. A pair of old baseball gloves was sitting just above eye level. He considered pulling them down; asking Blaine to play catch… he pulled the toolbox down instead and moved to the car. He could hear Blaine wander in a moment later. He leaned against the side of the car and watched his father work.

"You need something?" John didn't like the feeling of Blaine watching him so closely.

"No; just wanted to watch." Blaine shrugged, but then he was at the shelves, studying their contents. He pulled down one of the gloves and a ball and seated himself on the step below the door leading inside. He tossed the ball up in the air, caught it, and repeated the process.

John listened to the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting his mitt, and again he considered pulling down the other glove…

"Hello!" The neighbor—the one who scared them half to death in the middle of the night to announce her trees attack on their shed—suddenly appeared at the entrance of the garage.

Blaine missed the ball; it rolled toward John's feet, "Morning, Kelly."

"Isn't it just lovely out?" She gushed, "I'm having workers out to finally clean up that tree since it cooled down; I'll have them deal with your shed, too. It's the least I can do."

"Appreciate it." John threw the ball back to Blaine when he caught his eye.

"Blaine, how's Dalton? You'll be a senior in a few weeks, won't you?" She smiled at him.

"It's great Ms. Ryan. Yeah, I'm very excited; I'm looking at Princeton for after graduation." John watched his son's easy charm; the cheerful smile. He was always such a good actor; John felt a twinge of guilt for never showing up to any of his performances during his younger years.

"Any idea what you'll major in?" She glanced over her shoulder at the truck that had just pulled up at the curb between their houses.

Blaine watched the truck, too, rolling the baseball in his mitt, "Um, I—"

"He's got a lot of options." John supplied quickly when Blaine trailed off, "He hasn't made up his mind."

Kelly Ryan gave Blaine a funny look and then nodded to John, "He's always been so involved with everything; I'm sure he'll do well at anything he chooses."

"Thank you, Ms. Ryan," Blaine managed to mumble, but he continued watching the truck.

"Oh, that'll be the clean up crew. I should go tell them where they need to be. It was nice seeing you two." Ms. Ryan left them to go speak with the man climbing out of the driver's seat.

"Blaine." John called when Blaine's attention remained on the neighbor's driveway.

Blaine didn't respond.

John tried to follow Blaine's attention and he realized Blaine was not looking at something; he was focused on _someone_. A tall, thickly built red head in a dirty t-shirt and torn jeans was staring back at Blaine.

"Blaine." John said his name again; now unsure. Blaine looked tense; guarded, but he didn't move when the other boy made his way toward him.

"Gimme a minute." Blaine's voice was faint, but he was on his feet, moving toward the driveway.

John had been careful to respect the little space Blaine requested in the past couple weeks, but there was something about his posture… his tone… He gave it a minute, but then he approached the two boys and caught the end of what the red head was saying.

"—the police only asked about where he got his stuff."

Blaine was nodding slowly, still rolling the baseball around in his glove.

John cleared his throat, "Who's this Blaine?"

The two exchanged a look before Blaine answered, "Nobody."

"Blaine, listen, I…um…—" the other boy shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortably between John and Blaine.

"Could you give us a minute, Dad?" Blaine's voice was soft, but he still looked tense enough to bolt.

John couldn't decide what to do. He appraised the other boy again. Easily twice Blaine's size, but… he looked wishy-washy; sickly even—like he didn't eat enough or sleep enough or something. He didn't seem like a threat. "Sure; I'm going to check some messages from work."

When John re-entered the house, Tucker brushed past his knees and to Blaine's side, pressing his nose against the back of Blaine's hand and whining. Blaine tossed the ball a few yards away before turning his attention back to the larger boy, "What else could you possibly have to say, Max?"

"I…I—" Max watched Tucker as he dropped the ball back down at Blaine's feet, crying and wagging his tail to have it thrown again. When Max looked back up at Blaine, his bottom lip was trembling, "Jesus, Blaine, I can't sleep or eat or anything. I just keep fucking thinking about what we did to you when we were younger, and how it all started up again and…and…"

"And what?" Blaine snapped. Genuine-seeming emotions from any of the New Albany pack made him uneasy—little displays of seeming compassion had never ended well for him.

"I'm fucking sorry, okay?" Max's voice was a strangled sob, "I really—I don't know why we ever fucking did it. Eric, he just—and we—and you—Oh God, and then that other kid; I swear I didn't know it was that bad, I swear I would have—"

"Would have what, hit him less? Kicked him a little more gently?" Blaine glared at him, "I don't want your fucking apology, Max. It doesn't change anything."

"I know, I know, but, please Blaine, please just believe me. I wish I could take it back. All of it. Every fucking second, I don't know—I don't know why—" He dropped to his knees in front of Blaine.

Blaine backed away quickly; reflexively, but then hissed through his teeth, "Get up, you're causing a scene."

"I can't stop thinking about it, I can't even—I'm having fucking nightmares about it." Max remained on the ground, looking up at Blaine pathetically.

"Well, when you figure out how to get rid of them, let me know." Blaine sighed, "Seriously, get up, I'm not explaining this to the neighbor when she comes up here and sees you."

Max wiped his nose with the back of an arm, "What we did to you, Blaine… we, we shouldn't have; it was sick. Really, really sick and I don't know… Fuck, I don't know what else to say."

Blaine didn't say anything for a long moment, "What are you hoping for here, Max? Redemption? Resolve? You're not here by choice, so why the big display?"

"I was gonna come over earlier… but I, well I didn't know where you lived, and then I guess I just wanted to try and not think about all this shit. But then, well here you are, and fuck… you've got a house and parents and a dog… and I just… I wanted to pretend you weren't real."

Blaine stared at him silently.

"I mean, I guess—before… you didn't seem—fuck, I just never thought about you having a fucking dog." Max looked at Tucker still sitting at Blaine's heels. "I thought I could pretend it never happened."

"It did happen." Blaine closed his eyes for a moment.

Max didn't say anything; he stared down at his grass-stained shoes.

Blaine let out a long breath, "I… I forgive you, for whatever that's worth. It doesn't do me any good to hate you for it. It just keeps all this shit that much closer."

"Thanks." Max sniffled, wiped his eyes furiously with one hand.

Blaine stood silently; lost in thought.

"I should, um," Max cleared his throat, rolled a shoulder, "I should probably go before they start asking where I am."

Blaine didn't respond; his eyes were distant.

"Right, well, see ya around, I guess." Max glanced at Tucker one last time and turned away.

"Max," Blaine finally called after him.

Max turned and waited.

"Could you…" Blaine looked conflicted, "Never mind. I've got it under control."

* * *

John decided he had waited long enough; been respectful of the desired space, and now his feeling of unease was too much. He checked one last e-mail before opening the double doors of his office.

"Hello, dear; work on a Saturday?" Shannon appeared from the laundry room, a plastic bag draped over one arm.

"Just checking a few messages." John shrugged.

She nodded and glanced around the entry, "Where's Blaine?"

"Out front talking to one of Kelly Ryan's clean up boys. I'm surprised you didn't see him."

Shannon frowned, adjusting the bag on her arm, "No he's not. Tucker's out there, but there's no one up front."

John frowned, the feeling of unease only spreading, "Maybe he's out back with them by the shed."

They both tried to appear calm; no reason to cause a scene over their seventeen year-old being out of their supervision for a few minutes. When they looked out from the deck, they spied the crew of dirty-looking workers, but their son was not with them.

Still trying to play at casual, John let out a little hmmph of confusion, "I'll check out front again, maybe he just came back around the house; I saw him less than ten or fifteen minutes ago."

When John checked the front yard, he couldn't deny the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He noted that the baseball mitt and the ball were lying on the shelf and then a second detail his wife had missed. Blaine's car wasn't in the driveway.

Before he knew what he was doing, John was in the backyard, grabbing the red headed boy by the shirt, "Where the hell is my son?"

Max was a solid inch or two taller than John, and had a good fifty pounds on him, but he cowered beneath the hold, "What do you mean?"

"Where the fuck did he go?" John snapped.

"I don't know what you're talking about! We talked for a while and then I came back here! Honest!" Max looked terrified.

John let go of his shirt and stepped back. He noticed the other workers looking on with a mix of interest and horror. "Did he say where he was going?"

Max, despite John's more reasonable tone, looked just as uneasy as he had beneath the hold on his shirt, he shook his head quickly, "He was just standing up there with your dog when I came around back. We… we just talked about New Albany for a bit and then I left."

John eyed the boy again, "You know Blaine from New Albany?"

Max glanced back at his co-workers, "Um, sort of, we didn't talk much or anything…. I… I'm Max Huxley."

John recognized that name… but which one was he? Max…. Max had taken care of Eric… He resisted the urge to grab the kid by the shirt again, "What, exactly, did you say to him?"

"I…" Max looked at the other men again, and didn't meet John's eyes, "I guess I just... Um, I wasn't very… nice to him when we went to school together. I wanted to apologize."

John scrutinized him in silence.

"If I knew where he might have gone, I'd tell you, I swear." Max swallowed, "Honest, he… I guess I saw him put down his baseball glove and take something out of his pocket, but otherwise he was just standing there."

John felt like the blood had frozen in his veins. He turned back toward the house without explanation and rushed to the house. As soon as he was through the door, he half-ran to his office, ignoring his wife's panicked inquiries into what he looked so upset about, and pulled open the side drawer. He felt a wave of relief strike him so hard that he had to sit down. The pocketknife was still there; gleaming red and innocent right where he'd left it.

"John, what, what is it?" Shannon was half-shouting at him in the doorway.

"Nothing; it's nothing." John let out a long breath to steady himself. He wasn't sure what Blaine might have wanted with the thing or what he actually kept in his pockets now that the knife wasn't there, but he didn't care. He was still trying to steady his heart.

"His car is gone, John, " Shannon spoke softly, her voice wavering, "He's been doing so well, but… where would he go? Kurt's coming over here soon, he knows that, where would he go?"

"Maybe he went to the store… he can go places on his own, Shannon, we never told him he couldn't." They exchanged a look. It may never have been said, but much like the other rules of the house, it had been understood. Blaine had remained under their watchful gaze for nearly two weeks with the exceptions of his time with Kurt or his therapist.

"What do we do?" Shannon sat down slowly in a chair.

John rubbed a thumb over the smooth plastic of the knife; he put it in his pocket, "We wait."

* * *

Blaine did not need to linger in the car. He did not need to pause outside the automatic doors to try and re-assess the decision he had made. He went straight to the front desk and smiled pleasantly; a little charm always went a long way.

When the receptionist pointed him toward the elevators, he asked her politely where he could find the stairs. He didn't want to stand still.

He jogged up all five flights; took the three lefts and a right as instructed. He found the desired door and stepped through without pause. He closed it behind him quietly and sat down in the only chair in the room beside the only occupant in the room.

"Well, well, what a pleasant surprise." Eric was pale; gaunt, but his smile was as alluring as ever, "what brings you here?"

"Visiting hours." Blaine replied coolly, he glanced at the silver cuff holding Eric's right wrist to the hospital bed.

"Always such a sweetheart," Eric looked him over with a lascivious smirk.

Blaine stood and moved to the end of the bed, he pulled the chart off its hanger and scrutinized it.

"Want to play doctor, B?" Eric sing-songed.

"Maybe later," Blaine flipped through the pages, put it back, and settled himself back in the chair.

The two watched one another in silence.

"You didn't tattle on me." Eric quirked an eyebrow.

"I could say the same to you." Blaine folded his arms across his chest.

"I still could." Eric ran a finger over the metal links, "Why go down alone, hmm?"

"Go ahead," Blaine shrugged.

Eric looked him over for a second time, "Your parents would find out everything; Kurt would find out everything."

Blaine stared at him in silence.

"You don't seem too concerned, Blaine…" Understanding dawned on his features; he let out a laugh, but then he was sucking in a sharp breath; his eyes closed tightly.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Blaine watched him try and catch his breath. He felt a small sense of satisfaction seeing the other boy's features contorted with pain; there was comfort in witnessing such vulnerability.

"Stings a little." Eric agreed; still sucking in ragged breaths, "Lets chat man to man here, Blainey Boy, why are you really here?"

"I want to know why." Blaine said flatly.

"Why what?" Eric raised both eyebrows.

Blaine didn't know how he hadn't seen it the second he walked into the room, but now he could not take his eyes off of a long, ugly line running from Eric's temple to his jaw. It looked like it might have been infected at one point...or maybe it just wasn't healing well...

Eric caught his gaze and his smile only widened, "Isn't that pretty? You did that, Blaine. You were amazing! One second you're down for the count and then: BAM! You're at me. What a show."

Blaine tried to ignore the familiar chill as he studied Eric's eyes, "I want to know why you did what you did. Was this just a game for you, what?"

"Oh, Blaine," Eric closed his eyes, smiling contentedly, "Though this be madness, there is method in it… you like Shakespeare, don't you?"

"I'm not in the mood for games, Eric," Blaine sat back in his seat; frustrated.

"Pity." Eric opened his eyes and regarded Blaine for a long moment; he used his free hand to trace the line on his face. He chuckled to himself, "you really want to know?"

Blaine didn't answer; he waited quietly.

"Here's the deal, buddy boy, the people around here seem to think I'm what some might call a sociopath. I resent the term, I really do…" Eric smiled confidingly, "They say sociopath; I say master of human manipulation."

Blaine didn't move; didn't speak.

"You were such a perfect project. God, Blaine, you should have written 'victim' on your forehead with red paint. I knew, from that very first day, I was going to break you into tiny little pieces. I made you my pretty little marionette and then I tied up the strings so tight you had no way out, so you were bound to end up on one of two roads. You either off yourself—I picture slit wrists in the bathtub, personally… no guns for you; not your style."

"And the other option?" Blaine closed his eyes for just a moment.

"You'll end up in the psych ward—maybe mommy catches you before you can do yourself in or maybe you're just such a fucking mess no one knows what to do with you anymore…maybe you'll have a bed right next to mine..." Eric tilted his head, his eyes dreamy, but then he motioned a hand down at his torso, "But this! I never imagined this—you've grown up so much, Blaine! Who would have thought you'd fight back!"

Blaine shook his head slowly; he changed the subject, "How's your dad reacting to all this?"

Eric waved a hand dismissively, "He's a fucking mess—can you imagine what he'd be like if he knew the real story? Spineless prick; you'd think daddies would know their sons better, wouldn't you?"

"Do Chris and Mikey know you're here?"

"Of course; if the real question here is do they know why I'm here, no, they don't." Eric smirked, "You and Max are thick as thieves now, though, aren't you? Are you going to let him slip it in on the side or are you just going to dump Kurt's sorry ass?"

Blaine opened and then closed his mouth. He turned his gaze to the IV stand nearby.

"Oh, now look, I've gone and upset you. Was it something I said?" Eric clicked his tongue as though scolding himself.

"I'm not upset." Blaine said softly.

"You don't need to hide your feelings from me, Blaine, really you don't. Was it the two paths thing? You know, I've always said that even though people always think they want to know how their lives turn out, they really don't. You're a shining example right here. Knowing your fate doesn't make the grapes any less bitter, does it?"

Blaine shook his head, "It's not going to end that way."

"You can't fight fate, B." Eric shrugged a shoulder.

"I'm not fighting it. I'm making my own."

"I decide, Blaine, not you." Eric smiled; he lifted a hand and flitted his fingers gracefully like he held the strings of a puppet.

"You're not God," Blaine turned his attention back to Eric's face, he met his eyes, "You're not human either."

"Perhaps not." Eric tilted his head, amused, "What do you suppose I am, then?"

Blaine sat back in his chair, traced a finger over the scar on his forehead, "A monster, maybe."

"If I'm a monster, you're a monster, B. You're as fucked as I am."

"Maybe," Blaine looked thoughtful, then shook his head, "... but not a monster like you. I'm done; with all of this; with you."

"That easy, huh? Shed me like old skin?" Eric quirked an eyebrow. "Blaine Anderson, captain of his soul and master of his fate, thinks all he has to do is say the magic words and make this all go away?"

Blaine reached into his pocket, "The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief."

Eric beamed; delighted, "So you _do_ want to play; excellent."

"No, I think I'm done playing." Blaine reached out and took Eric's hand in his own. He opened his fingers carefully and pressed something into his palm.

Eric opened his hand and looked at the thing there closely, he frowned, "What's this?"

"A present from one monster to another." Blaine rose from his chair, "One. One star."

"That's not Shakespeare," Eric turned the thing around in his hand, still frowning, "Are you trying to be cryptic, Blaine?"

Blaine didn't answer; he offered no explanation, no final words. He turned and left.

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?" Shannon was shouting in her son's face the moment he was through the door. She pulled him in for a bone-crushing hug before holding him out in front of her by the arms.

"Nowhere; went for a drive to clear my head." Blaine shrugged.

"You had us worried sick! You can't just disappear without a word, Blaine! Kurt is on his way over right now, you had better call him so he doesn't die of a heart attack; no one knew where you were and—"

"Shannon, he gets it." John said flatly.

"I'm really sorry, Mom. Never again." Blaine crossed his heart quickly.

Shannon sighed and pulled him in for a less violent hug, "I know you hate the contact thing, but you scared me, Blaine… I just… I need to hold onto you for a minute."

"Hold on as much as you need to." Blaine slipped an arm around her and squeezed back briefly.

When she finally let go, she studied his face, "Is everything all right? You seem… I don't know... did something happen?"

Blaine considered lying; supplying a quick 'everything's fine', but he was tired of that; he decided to risk it. "I went to the hospital. I visited Eric."

He should have just lied. His mother set into a screaming, crying fit that was nearly as mortifying as the display she'd given the night he had come home from the hospital with his father. He stood quietly and let her berate him. He couldn't understand most of what she was saying… something about sadism and post-traumatic stress and self-abuse… He listened quietly; let her get it out of her system.

John stared intently at Blaine, but he said nothing.

"—why would you put yourself through that, Blaine?" His mother had finally wound up her emotional tirade, but she was searching his face with pained eyes.

"I had to." Blaine said, his voice soft, "He's real whether I want him to be or not. He's not just going to go away because I want him to."

"Your therapist didn't put you up to this, did she? We'll find a new one, we'll—"

"No, mom, she didn't put me up to anything. I decided this." Blaine glanced at his father again and then back at his mother, "I did it for me."

Shannon smoothed his hair with one hand, hugged him again, "I think I understand you and then you go off and do something like this, I- God, what's the use; I guess what's done is done… You're sure you're all right?"

"Never been better." Blaine smiled for her, "Really."

Shannon sighed and kissed him on the cheek once, "Foolish boy."

"Sorry." Blaine mumbled, "…Does this mean I can't go to Nadia's going away thing tonight?"

She laughed a little and rubbed the lipstick off his cheek with a thumb, "Of course you can still go. Just… please talk to us when you get ideas like that in your head from now on, Blaine."

"Yes, ma'am." Blaine smiled ruefully.

After a little more coddling, she finally released him to go back outside. He glanced at his father once before moving toward the door—John was still scrutinizing him silently. Not sure what else to do, Blaine escaped to the porch and took up his guitar from where he'd left it on the bench outside. He plucked at its strings until he spotted a familiar car pulling up in the driveway. He put the guitar back down and started walking toward the Lincoln as its driver slammed the door shut. Without the cast, Kurt could move with his normal speed and he was using it to his full advantage to storm toward Blaine.

"Blaine, what the hell were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all? Your mom called me freaking out that you had just up and left, and I think I broke about seventeen traffic laws getting over here—I almost hit an old lady with her walker—and you couldn't even both to call to let me know you got home or—"

Blaine caught him by the shoulders and kissed him. He reached a hand up to the nape of Kurt's neck, turned his fingers into the soft hair and pressed him in even closer.

When they parted, Kurt stared at Blaine; cheeks flushed, lips swollen, and anger replaced by shock. He opened and closed his mouth; unsure of what to say.

Blaine stared back for a moment, but then a light blush touched his cheeks and he looked down; a bashful smile played at his mouth, and a hand went up to rub the back of his neck.

Kurt's vision blurred for a moment, he felt a wave of goose bumps tickle his arms. He knew he shouldn't push it; but then, before he could stop himself, his arms were wrapped around Blaine, his face pressed into his shoulder, his voice a trembling whisper, "There you are."

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt just as tightly. He didn't know how long they stood like that. He didn't care.

The slamming of the garage door finally made him look up. He met his father's eyes.

Slowly he pulled out of Kurt's embrace, but left one hand around his waist as they moved inside, trying to avoid eye contact with his father. Things may have changed, but there were still lines they did not cross, and Blaine was fairly sure intimate moments with his boyfriend in plain sight made up one such line.

John turned his attention to the car; ignoring Blaine and Kurt as they passed.

"Sorry." Kurt murmured as they entered the kitchen.

"Don't be." Blaine shrugged.

Kurt turned to study him as they entered the kitchen, "You seem…different."

He smiled, "I feel different."

Kurt didn't ask him to elaborate; he squeezed his hand once and moved to help Shannon unload the groceries she had abandoned when Blaine had disappeared.

"You don't have to do that, dear, really." Shannon touched Kurt's arm as he pulled things from the paper bags.

"I don't mind; I'm fully mobile; I like taking advantage of it." Kurt bent his knee a few times in display.

"Well, when we're done, I can make you two dinner." Shannon conceded, glancing at Blaine.

"We're going to need food in our stomachs if we're going to a Nadia Fisher party." Kurt murmured as he passed Blaine.

Blaine laughed, but turned his attention to his mother who had suddenly startled, "You okay, Mom?"

She stared at him in momentary shock, and then looked away almost bashfully, "I… I'm fine; I just… I don't remember the last time I heard you laugh like that."

Before Blaine could respond, the garage door slammed shut and John Anderson was suddenly standing in the middle of the kitchen, scrutinizing the other three occupants silently.

Shannon wiped her eyes quickly, "I was just telling the boys I'm going to make dinner; are you hungry?"

John stared at her in silence for a long moment, "They're not eating dinner with us."

"John." Shannon's eyes widened. Weren't they past this?

John turned his attention to his son, he held out his hand, "Here."

"What… what's this?" Blaine stared down at the fifty-dollar bill wrapped around a set of keys.

"Take Kurt out to dinner before you go to Nadia's." John cleared his throat once and turned toward the groceries. He began unloading what was left in the bags in silence.

"Dad… these are the keys to the Chevy." Blaine said quietly.

John stopped in his movements, he glanced at Blaine, "I… I installed a new radio today."

"Dad, I can't take that car, it's—" Blaine swallowed hard; his throat tight.

"Kurt, I left a few bags in the car, do you want to help me grab them?" Shannon spoke softly and exchanged a quick look with Kurt.

"Sure." Kurt followed after her, touching a hand to Blaine's arm gently as he passed.

Blaine and John were left alone on opposite sides of the kitchen. They stood in silence.

John finally put down the box of cereal he'd been fumbling with and turned to face his son full on; his voice hesitant, "I told you life would reward you if you worked hard, Blaine. You worked hard on that car… you… you deserve it. Go on and go."

"Dad…" Blaine swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears that suddenly stung his eyes at bay; he did not want to cry in front of his father. Not in that moment where things hung so precariously.

John closed the space between them slowly. He put a tentative hand on Blaine's shoulder, "You're a good man, Blaine… a better man than I could ever hope to be. I'm proud of you."

Blaine pressed a hand over his father's hand. He didn't say anything.

They stood that way for a minute, staring at one another.

John squeezed his shoulder once, "Go ahead and get going. Have fun."

Blaine nodded slowly. He walked toward the door, but then turned, his hand on the knob, "Dad?"

John stared back at him; waiting.

"I…" Blaine swallowed; smiled, "thank you."

John nodded his head once; but he quickly turned his attention back to the groceries. He had said what he needed to say; he didn't need his son to see him near tears.

Blaine stepped outside; he felt a strange lightness in his limbs... a quiet in his head.

"Hey," Kurt said softly, straightening up quickly from where he was leaned on the car.

"Dad's unloading groceries, Mom." Blaine glanced at his mother.

"I'll go help him, is everything…" She trailed off; studying her son's face.

"Everything's good…great. Everything is great." Blaine smiled reassuringly.

He watched her go inside and then turned his attention to the car. He pulled open the passenger door and smiled at Kurt, "Well?"

Kurt studied his face for a moment and then tentatively slipped into the seat.

When Blaine came around the car to climb into the driver's side, Kurt watched him quietly, but did not press him for information.

Blaine adjusted the rearview mirror; ran a hand over the edge of the steering wheel. He put the keys in the ignition, but did not immediately turn the engine over.

"Blaine?" Kurt spoke softly; not sure what was going through the dark haired boy's head as he sat silently in the driver's seat.

Blaine shook his head; smiled. He turned the keys in the ignition and pulled out of the garage, "Turn on the radio?"

Kurt nodded and played with the station dial until he found something that was not all static. As they pulled onto the main road, he reached over and squeezed Blaine's knee; he offered no explanation.

Blaine let go of the wheel with one hand and caught Kurt's hand in his own. He raised it to his mouth and kissed it once, "Love you."

"And I love you," Kurt smiled, leaning back in his seat contentedly, "So where do you want to go?"

Blaine was quiet for a moment. He rolled down the windows and held an arm out into the breeze, he didn't look at Kurt, but he smiled, "We can go anywhere."

_End_


End file.
